


A Course Can Be Found

by peoriapeoria



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Consent, Ethics, Love, M/M, Marriage, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was inspired by <em>Even When Stars Fade</em>, which isn't in the archive at this time. Thanks to spinner_atropos who betaed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Course Can Be Found

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cursed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2696363) by [tirsynni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirsynni/pseuds/tirsynni). 



I should have become one of Her hounds. A fairy godmother isn't nearly as charming as Disney would have one think. She's made me Marcone's bitch. Put a "fuck or die" spell on me as mere hors d' oeuvres to a binding. Left me cowering in my apartment waiting to die. I should have died. Would have served Her right, me dead from her interference.

I scratched the top of Mouse's head, ignoring that I was alone in Marcone's car with him. I wasn't thinking about it, about carving grooves into his back, of him--I wasn't thinking about that. Never. Married to the mob. I should have died.

I allowed myself to be herded out of the car, into the office building, the elevator, past expensive electronics that would certainly blow given my state if my magic wasn't drained. I was pressed into a couch and Mouse lay across my lap. Marcone and Hendricks moved to the large desk miles away. I didn't look at Ms Gard. If I didn't look at her I could pretend she wasn't there. Wasn't guarding the spoils.

***

John Marcone sat down and picked up the phone. Harry's godmother had minced all his careful plans with her spell. Spells. He didn't look at Harry, in shock across the room. If he hadn't been in the neighborhood, would Mouse have succeeded in saving his master? He talked to a lawyer, to his head housekeeper and to a succession of more lawyers.

"Ms Gard." He needed to know if there were any fine print items attached to the binding, any further indignities for him to force on Harry. He would do what was required. He would get them through this. He was relieved to find that living under the same roof would satisfy, that he wouldn't be forced to share a room, forced to share a bed. "Arrange precautions." His staff had put a lot of effort into his mansion, and he wouldn't have their work endangered.

He finally looked at Hendricks. He got up and walked over to the couch. "Mr. Dresden, shall we?" She'd minced all his plans but somehow he would win his husband round.

***

I pinned his eyes in my gaze, then unfolded from the couch. I was stronger than this. He hadn't won. It was rigged so he hadn't won. I'd just have to keep repeating that until it was True.

The ride was. Marcone liked to keep me on edge, he'd used flirting to keep me on edge. I suppose that wouldn't work now, so the silent treatment was the new tactic. I was a little surprised when we arrived at his mansion. It wasn't a cell I was escorted into. Not even the four-star impersonal 'cell' that a favored prisoner/hostage might be slipped into. I turned to look at him after he mentioned the bathroom and the bell-pull should I need something.  
"You didn't just have this room made."

He left without answering. I lifted the metal dome sitting on the small table, and found a sandwich, carrot sticks, olives and a small bag of chips. I grabbed a few carrots and checked the drawers. Clothes. My size. I knew that he'd been trying to acquire me for years, but this was. Creepy. I threw his jacket at the door, scooped out some clothes and headed into the bathroom.

I couldn't recall the last hot shower I'd had. I barely felt this one, though it beat down and made my skin go past pink to red. I didn't like my godmother. Or Marcone. I hated myself. I'd gotten back to my apartment, inside my wards before the compulsion racked me. I couldn't stay in the Nevernever, I couldn't let my friends know. There was no way out of the ensorcel. I scrubbed myself until my skin stung from the pelting water. I let it pound, then turned it off. I toweled off and got dressed.

I fell on the food. I didn't think about, I pointedly didn't think about, I was not going to think about. I was still hungry but damned if I'd ring that bell. I didn't want to see anyone. I poked and prodded the various furnishings of the room. I may have checked the length of some sleeves. I didn't pull out any books from the shelves. My hands weren't shaking. I wasn't losing it.

***

Elsewhere in the house John Marcone showered quickly under hot water and turned it to cold. He shut the water off and dried himself. He'd not had a choice, he'd had to save Harry. Dead Harry was of use to no one. Marcone was skilled at doing what was needed. Assessing situations and defining action.

He'd not thought he'd had a time constraint. His own mortality, yes, nor had it been lost on him how Harry courted death. His careful plans were for naught. He'd started, not cleaning up, but reordering things. The first call had arranged for an account for Harry, thirty thousand a year. He hoped the amount was small enough Harry wouldn't scorn it out of hand. He knew Harry didn't approve of him, of his money and its origins. Marcone saw the lack of money as the root of evil. His third and subsequent calls were various, some long range, some more intermediate. It wasn't easy figuring out how to provide for a wizard without creating legal ties that might be used in a court of law.

Marcone dressed casually, and headed for his office. There was a lot of work involved in organizing crime, and his business in Harry's neighborhood wasn't the end of his scheduled day. He was good at compartmentalizing.

He didn't look up when Hendricks slipped into the room. He wasn't called on it; that wasn't how Hendricks worked. Once John finished the matters he could in his current frame of mind he lifted his head. They didn't speak. They didn't need to; it was too raw, it might always be too raw. Hendricks would still have responsibilities within the Outfit, but he was now in charge of Harry Dresden's security. He trusted no one more.

Hendricks left after they went over various business matters. John squared his desk and went to bed.

***

Harry looked at the door. He'd been awake for some time, but hadn't gotten out of bed. There was another knock. He got up, looked at his clothes, Marcone's clothes, clothes Marcone had paid for, and headed for the door, wrenching it open.

Hendricks with a covered tray wasn't what he'd expected. He could smell the food within and his mouth watered. Harry stepped back and permitted entry. He watched, perplexed, as Hendricks laid the table like he'd been deputized by Martha Stewart. He gathered up last night's leavings and swept back out.

It was only after Harry had finished eating that he noticed Marcone's jacket had been cleared as well.

***

Marcone followed his schedule. Hendricks was too busy to juggle it, and the routine was if not soothing expected. He would have to face Dresden, the matter was too delicate to permit it to fester. It was a bit of a three-pointed problem, involving as it did the Unseelie Accords, vanilla society and Harry. Marcone did respect marriage, which was why he hadn't wed until now. He'd have preferred a less archaic version, with Harry willing. Marcone was experienced with situations other than his ideal. He boxed up and shelved the matter for the rest of the day.

***

I wasn't really a prisoner. I was mostly sure of that, that I could get out past Marcone's guards. I didn't want to go to my apartment, I didn't want to travel the Nevernever and I didn't want to see my friends. Marcone had been a stalker for years, so anywhere I went he'd find me. I was in no mood to play the fox, amusing as Marcone in hunting pink would be. I was good at deflection. Good thing, as this didn't bear reflection.

I took a bath. A very hot bath. For as much metaphorical hot water I find myself in, actual hot water rarely cameos in my life. A tub that I fit in without being folded like an interstate map, never. Murphy could probably do laps in this tub.

It was only after I'd let the water out and dried off and donned yet more not-my-clothes that I really thought about the tub. A perfectly traditional tub. Not a water jet or whatever makes a whirlpool whirl. Nothing that I could break, just valves.

This time as I scanned the bookshelves I noticed the titles of the cloth and leather-bound books. Some of them were standard titles, that were included in books by the yard (as opposed to books by the bag, my personal inclination) for being out of copyright and aspirational pretension. Others I didn't think had ever been printed as hardbound.

Lunch appeared, again borne by Cujo and I almost quipped about how would he hear his master's voice. I was still a bit off, so I didn't. I also wanted the food. Crime did seem to pay for a good cook. Again the food was laid out and the tray and dome carried away.

I had a siesta after that. It was a good bed, much longer than my own, so I actually fit. I'd been shorter the last time that was true. When I woke, I flipped through a few books, not really having the concentration for reading.

The next bit was serious Twilight Zone Masterpiece Theatre. I just stared at the card Hendricks had on a salver (what, I might have a GED, but Eb made sure I read literature. Wizard, books.) "Sure, whatever." Big as the room was, not that it felt large, a walk would be useful even taken with Marcone.

***

John looked at Dresden. He'd long wanted to see Harry dressed right, not in washed-out shirts and jeans meant for wider men. Around fae one really had to be careful about wishes, and this was such a subtle case point. Harry hadn't accepted him, these weren't gifts he'd not refused. He pushed that into a dark corner; this wasn't about him.

***

I could have called him a scumbag. I didn't, that barge had sailed. It would have been nostalgia. "So, what now?"

"That really depends on you. Your cat is in your apartment."

I smiled as I wondered just how many goons that had required. Mister would have taken full advantage of the door being open. Did goombas wonder about their orders, or was finding a cat not that odd? I didn't want to go back and I didn't want to be here. I didn't, tub, bed and cook notwithstanding.

"We are married in the eyes of the Courts, and I will honor that."

I didn't have a retort for that. I, it could mean so many incompatible things, I couldn't interpret what he meant. We didn't say more, he kept his own counsel and I was at a loss. His grounds were nice. A landscaped battlefield, all sightlines and perennials. Bob and Ivy had expanded my mind about manor lawns. I balked at the kitchen garden—not that it was located by the kitchen, but I could see the dried fronds of asparagus and mustard gone to seed. I wouldn't have my magic in there, not without being welcomed. I skirted it without explaining. Marcone's expression left no question that he was unaware of the threshold.  
He walked me to my door, my room's door, to the door of the room... It was such an odd feeling that I wasn't sure if I should kiss him. I shouldn't. I didn't. I may have shut the door a bit hard.

***

It hadn't gone well, Marcone thought, but all of his property was intact, which was something when Harry Dresden was involved. What he wanted and where they were didn't occupy the same map. He'd been more at a loss wooing a wizard than about anything in his life, and wooing a forced groom was an exponential on that. He would win Harry.

Somehow. He'd been able in the moment to forget the situation. It had been under duress, the very memory a theft. It tainted all his fantasies. Carefully they each were packed like ornaments and stored away. Funny how much space Dresden took up. How he now echoed.

***

Dinner arrived later though this time Hendricks didn't linger to set it out, just set the domed tray down. Maybe my expression, maybe the needs of crime. I didn't care. I picked at my supper. It didn't go to waste, I did eat it, I just enjoyed it much less. Totally me, not the food. I turned in early.

The next morning I confronted Cujo. "I need to get my cat." I'd had time to think about my godmother's binding spell and realized that I really didn't want to test the limits. I hadn't been overwhelmed with burning need, since, and putting that past her wasn't a wager I was willing to make.

"I'll drive you after your breakfast." Hendricks left with the empty tray.

He did. He didn't come in, he managed to loiter outside without looking like an enforcer. It helped that he wasn't wearing a suit. He looked like some varsity football coach, very much lost.

Mister looked at me with affectionate disdain. I gathered together Mister and Mouse's things, trashed the few things in the ice box and bailed it out, threw my clothes into a bag. Mister helped for a value of twining through my legs. I couldn't stand in my living room. My rent was paid through the month. I lifted the trap into the subbasement.

"Harry."

I really didn't want to talk with Bob right now. I started packing up things, what I thought I might want and what I didn't want falling into other hands. I looked longingly at Little Chicago. My lab had more than I really wanted to trip over in my room. The room. A room in Marcone's mansion, that I was sleeping in.

"You got hitched?"

"Don't sound so sure, Bob." I kept packing.

"Who? Going somewhere, boss?"

"Sorta." I figured if I answered both he'd be confused.

"You can't be sorta married unless you're Britney Spears." He had a point, but I couldn't say top of his head. Problem with a skull. "Something's not-- What happened? You have the leavings of serious fae magic smudged all over."

I'd have thought the shower would have taken care of that, the bath certainly. That I'd gotten married was more apparent was a troubling point. "My godmother happened."

"That's related to the married?"

I didn't want to answer.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"She put a compel on you." I didn't like Bob's tone; I hadn't wanted his smarmy commentary, and I found this serious Bob worse. "Don't think this is a marriage of convenience."

"There's nothing convenient about this!"

"Who?"

"Nobody you know. Go to sleep." I wrapped him up and stuffed him into my bag of clothes. I finished packing and got the results upstairs. I took out one load and Cujo materialized in a way no man his size should be able to. I hardly had a second load once Hendricks threw in. I brought out Mister last. Hendricks didn't say anything but his glance over the haul was eloquent. It wasn't much for a life. "I'm not moving out." I wasn't. That would mean I was moving in with Marcone.

I wasn't. I ignored that my godmother could have put shorter chains on our shackles. I carried in the bag with Bob and the most sensitive crate of potions and whatnot. I could read that more than that... just it wasn't done. I know, normally that'd just egg me on. I wasn't feeling normal.

Finding a spot to stash Bob took some time. Mister investigated the room. I would have to consult with Bob. Later. He'd know. I didn't want him to know. I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't want to know. I also didn't want to know the specifics of my godmother's binding. Immature. I never claimed to be anything else.

I wedged things in here and there, my stuff disappearing among all the things Marcone's dirty money had bought. Lunch appeared once I was done. Hendricks didn't set it out, just set tray and all down. I lifted the dome. No wonder. Looked like he'd just been bringing snacks before. That or this was dinner too. Maybe he had things to do tonight.

I spent the afternoon with Mister and Mouse. I may have napped; you would too if Mister went to sleep on you. I took a shower. Lunch disappeared in stages. The knock startled me. The knock came again, softer. "Who is it?"

***

Trust Harry Dresden to unironically set up a knock knock joke. Sister Muriel would be disappointed that I didn't run with the cue, but I was at a loss for any that suited the occasion. "Would you join me for dinner?"

"Biscuits or dovetail?"

I smiled at that, at least he still had his sense of humor. "Find out in fifteen minutes." I was concerned Harry hadn't asked to contact his friends, and yet unsurprised. Denial was easier without witnesses. In their absence that left me to provide what company he would accept.

***

I don't know what I'd expected, but Marcone sitting, then standing, not at the head of the table but at the middle facing the other place setting wasn't it. I suppose it wasn't as long as I'd pictured either. The table. I took my seat, noting the not-centerpieces to either side. Candles. I looked up at the ceiling. So I could at times fry lightbulbs, but those had to be cheap enough for Marcone to replace.

"Ambiance. Necessity isn't the sole reason for candles."

We didn't talk, not really. Partly because the food was that good. I wasn't sure how the maid knew when to bring the new course, she just did so without fail as we finished the previous one. Being overheard was another, at least on my end. What was there to say, really?

I was coming to terms with being alive. I'd had to renounce that to stay in my apartment, to hide from Murphy and Molly, from Chicago innocent and not, to embrace death when the alternative was unacceptable. It probably didn't hurt that I was being plied with food and other comforts to which I was unaccustomed.

Seems I've a rather low price. Or high, considering how this was all paid with blood money. "Just what did you mean by 'honoring being married'?" I must be feeling better, biting the hand--yeah.

"Simply what I have been doing." Providing for him, forsaking all others. I didn't wish to disturb him by mentioning either explicitly. I would have him accept me, but now was not the time to launch that campaign. I ignored that it might never be time; I'd met the moment where hope was all that remained and I guarded that ember tighter than my true name.

I had no retort to that. I had to stay here, my godmother would have hooks in her binding and I had no doubts living apart from Marcone would at the least tug them. "I'll have to get back to work soon." So much for no retort. I waited for his reaction.

"You can spare yourself a week."

I nodded. A deadline, I could work with that. A set end to my moping was a gift, one that hadn't cost anyone anything. Dessert arrived just as the silence became heavy.

I excused myself once I was finished eating. I played at reading, then decided on a bath. I turned in early.

***

"About time." Bob glowed, finally unwrapped. "Where are we?" I'd put it off until after lunch, the curtains were heavy over the windows and there was a veil over the door. "You're sure I don't know who you married?"

I didn't like that he was more certain about that.

"This isn't a hotel." Bob paused. "When did you last have sex?"

"Pay attention to the binding."

"I am. Your aura looks, I've seen this before, not this strong--" I forced myself not to swallow.

"I wonder if she knows she's hooked a Baron. How is he in the sack? Don't disappoint me, I need ALL the details."

"What do you mean?" He wasn't bluffing about Marcone.

"Sex. Focus, Harry. You really should introduce us, bad enough I wasn't invited to the wedding."

"There. Wasn't. A Wedding."

"Really?" The quality of the silence changed. "When did you last have sex with the Baron?"

I'd only come to terms with being alive. How I was alive was a completely separate matter. If I didn't think about it directly I could just about ignore it. Ignore Marcone--

"It's important." I didn't like how that sounded like a portent.

"WhenwegotmarrieddropitBob."

"Hmm."

"What hmm?"

"Nothing until I see him." I was surprised that his light dimmed. I wrapped him back up and replaced him in his hiding spot before dropping the veil.

Three days. Tonight would be the third since. Since. He hadn't known about the binding. I had tried to stop him. I had, I'd just been ineffectual by that time, too wracked with my godmother's compel. I should have told him. The first mortal signatory to the Accords did not want the impediment of a wizard as a spouse. Not that my being a wizard was the impediment.

Four more days before I went to my office. If Armageddon came before that I wasn't sure I was going to be ready to stop it. I pondered Bob's--not information, but what he'd said by leaving things unsaid.

I wasn't showing Marcone Bob, or Bob Marcone. Introducing those two was out of the question. The consequences didn't bear consideration. Marcone could pay Bob in his preferred coin much better than I could and he did not need a Spirit of Intellect to control Chicago. He might branch out, more than he already had.

The problem was if I didn't, then I had to think about Marcone. About. Yeah. If I did that I'd have to admit how long I'd been noticing his eyes, and that wasn't just because I didn't see that many eyes. I might even have to acknowledge that I flirted back. I wasn't ready. Three days.

Eventually dinner arrived. This room service thing, a person could get used to it. Other than that it was Cujo playing my waiter. "Slow week for crime?" Hendricks really sold that brick wall, he should do summer repertory. Wait, that might happen given the Courts. 

I'm not dumb. Don't say it, I'm not, sometimes I'm just slow putting the pieces together. At least I didn't blurt it out, that he was my wedding present. I'd figured out, finally, that Cujo was Marcone's right hand, not just his top enforcer; this was like giving me the Kevlar vest right off his chest.

I was going to have to think about Marcone. Not with Hendricks here. "Thanks for bringing the food." He nodded and left. I ate as a distraction. That worked fine until I polished off the last forkful. I mention that crime buys a good cook?

So. My fairy godmother had taken to the notion that I couldn't be trusted to run my own social life and put a compel on me. I hadn't even considered that Marcone would stop by, when I holed up in my apartment; though that sort of implied closing the door, which I hadn't managed.

I couldn't do this. I didn't want to feel like that. I'd been consumed with lust, I'd told him to leave. He didn't leave. He didn't leave me to die. He didn't leave me alone. He sent them away and took care of me. Gentleman Johnny. I didn't--

I wanted to be single. Single, I could believe I'd meet the right woman. It didn't matter that I was shit at it. I'd thought Elaine had died when I killed Justin, that and being almost executed is a setback. Maybe not enough to explain Susan being my next, no one in between.

I enjoyed it, being fucked. No! I got up from the floor. I was confused, about enjoying, about fucking, about Marcone. Possibly not-fucking. He'd been careful, frustratingly careful. I hadn't, just a sheaf of jangling nerves getting everything they'd never thought they wanted. A damn lie.

I wasn't ready. He should have left. I should have died. Dead I wouldn't have to face that I'd been glad he showed up. Wouldn't have to remember scratching his back. I'd wanted it. I didn't want to want it, didn't want to be a lie, wanted to be--

I wanted to understand Marcone. He'd given me Hendricks; protective and possessive were Marcone's default setting right along with calculating and ruthless, but this was outside the Outfit's reputed generous employee benefits. He didn't just leave me. There had to be wizards that would work for him.

***

Marcone was one of the hardest-working heads of organized crime. Careful planning was the root to the safety he ensured for civilian Chicago. He pruned his personnel so only loyal and rule abiding members remained, and guaranteed their profits. Right now it was a refuge against the whole matter of Dresden.

He finished his current piece of oversight and only then looked up at Hendricks.

"What philosopher is going to enlighten me tonight?"

"You're running."

He prepared a retort, then answered, "Yes. How is he?"

Hendricks didn't answer.

Marcone resisted bringing his hands to his face. Only Harry drove him back half a lifetime ago. "I'm sorry for the question." Hendricks wasn't a spy, his loyalty had been transferred to Harry. Dresden. He so liked calling him Harry.

"You don't approve of the hands-off approach." He'd had long years reading Hendricks and his various silences. He granted that the metaphor was weak considering his literal action. He yearned to remember Dresden's skin. He'd gotten Dresden in the worst way, and he was so close and off-limits. An apple once bitten.

***

Consort. The word hit me while I took a walk. It fit the situation. I even asked Hendricks how to not pass any sensitive high-end electronics on the way out. He might have been pleased. Mouse enjoyed the walk and I liked seeing him run. Baron of the Freehold Chicago, consort to the Wizard Dresden, Wizard Dresden, consort of Baron Marcone.

I'd been ignoring Bob, which wasn't wise considering I'd soon be back at the office and almost as soon needing his help. I didn't know what I felt about all of this. Apparently there was some sort of crime wave in the works, that or John wasn't used to doing without his right hand. I expected he was ambidextrous. I wanted proof.

That had surprised me for not surprising me. I didn't want to be celibate for the rest of John's life. John. I had to stop thinking of him as Marcone, stop insulating myself through that trick. John.

I got up and took out Bob. I'd think better of it if I thought, so I just acted. Worked for me often enough.

"Woo hoo!" Bob came up short. "Wait, when did you and the Baron get it on last?"

That surprised me. "Woo hoo?" Little flashes of sense memory popped for me now that I wasn't holding such tight rein on them.

"You're lit up like Las Vegas. It's distracting. Better buy me some shades. Come on, I need details."

"The answer hasn't changed." The admission itched. I kept reaching for memories that didn't exist, because the situation hadn't been normal. He'd come into the game on third base.

"Harry, stop lying to me, I know you're a prude but this is serious magic." Bob stilled. "Why haven't you two gotten it on since?"

"What part of 'compel' did you miss?" I'd done it too, John hadn't known what he was walking into when he'd checked my gaping door. He could have walked away. He could have, but he wouldn't. Protective, possessive? The only reason the FBI didn't have him on a poster was because he was in the dictionary for those. This could be a very difficult arrangement.

"I didn't see the full spell. You have to harness this. Waiting is just going to compound the danger."

"Danger?"

"It's called a binding for a reason. You shouldn't be generating this much energy without having sex. Live a little." Bob winked out.

Did it say something about me that I had less sympathy for dragging John into this than I had compunctions about any of my friends or random strangers?

***

I was feeling more frustration than usual. Criminals were in aggregate fairly predictable, and normally I used that, even when the shortsightedness made me wince. I'd been like that once, a tough killing men for no better reason than to dress nice. I knew it was my situation, the unsettled jangle of stymied desire. Before. It was best I left it at that. Before. This was after and I would have to adapt. I'd adapted on another occasion, too late for the girl who took the bullet meant for me. It had killed the me I'd been; I couldn't see what came next this time. It had been an act of will changing from Gentle John to Gentleman Johnny. I plowed back into my work.

I looked up when Hendricks slipped into my office. I judged this expression as his scowl, despite its apparent blandness. "Yes?"

"There must be rest even for the wicked."

It was a bad sign when he started reworking aphorisms. That he was playing with that particular one-- Hendricks thought I was too hard on myself. I felt that it was important to distinguish between good and evil, better to acknowledge inclines to keep one's footing. I needed to project enough evil to keep leashed the inchoate seethe Chicago bathed in. I was no martyr, I enjoyed the spoils of my success.

"Can you still tell stubborn from stupid?" Hendricks left.

I gave in then. There weren't many that I trusted to be honest with me. Hendricks rarely was so blunt; that had been left to Dresden. I headed for my suite and undressed for bed.

***

I woke up in the middle of the night. In my apartment I'd have told the time by the sounds that still made it through my door. I gathered a bit of magic to get a glow to look at the probably-antique clock. Three-eighteen.

Part of me thought I should go and pack up my apartment. Hendricks would hunt me if I did; that, and I had some shred of self-preservation. Really, I do, regardless of recent events. My life. Okay, so maybe it was a new leaf. Whatever. In the morning would do. The real morning. After breakfast. I couldn't get back to sleep.

I think I was able to feel what Bob was calling lights. It jangled. I got up. Now, I suppose in a house of this size I should have wondered how I would find John's room. I didn't, and I found it on the first try. I didn't even question that he didn't wake when I opened the door. The door to a dressing room. I... I ignored it. Just like I ignored the be-draped four-poster and lifted the blankets and settled into bed. It was a huge bed and I was on top of the sheet. I went out like a light.

***

I woke up in better spirits than I had Since. Good. Distractions enough came with the job without me infusing additional ones from my personal life. Pounding hot shower, shave, cup of coffee while I considered what to wear. I'd started leaving my Blackberry in my office in an act of wishful thinking-- It had the benefit of focusing me on the next day's schedule before I ended my evening. I got dressed and headed out. I'd have breakfast at the office.

***

After I'd slipped out of John's bed (the room did have its own door, further down the hall) I decided Mouse would like a morning walk and threw on some clothes. I think I recognized some of the guards, though they pointedly didn't see me. I wondered how the Outfit was going to take this, and realized that all they would know was that Marcone had finally brought back the acquisition he'd spent so much time stalking.

How they saw that didn't matter, as it hadn't brought the Outfit crumbling down. I'd had my reasons backing John's bid to become an Accords Signatory and the Outfit was his stake. If I was going to live here I wouldn't be confined to one room, not that there weren't rooms my whole apartment would fit into, subbasement included. I just would have to be less curious than Bluebeard's wives. 

I caught myself before I got too close to the kitchen, not wanting the wrath of Cusinart and Braun upon me. I had a momentary thought of me belled to warn electric mice. Hendricks' appearance stopped that train. I wouldn't say I startled him, but I was unexpected.

"Thought I'd eat somewhere else." I realized that things might be awkward considering the years of Cujo cracks and whatnot.

"The dining room has good light."

I could find my way there, so I did. I claimed a patch of sunlight. Instead of Cujo a maid came in and set a runner across the table width; figures nothing so prosaic as a placemat would be at Gentleman Johnny's. I'd say what I ate but I'm no connoisseur, so to me it was various eggs, meat and fruit with the fluffiest pancakes ever. I packed away an utterly ridiculous amount of food.

I'd leave the furniture. I'd need boxes. I was going to need to talk to Murphy, not because of the move but because of the move. She was going to be totally apeshit about me playing house with Marcone.

Except we weren't. I had surprised myself going to his room; he'd surprised me by not waking up. I wanted to know how much of my memory was spell-fueled. None of that mattered to Murphy, but that I was living with Marcone would. I owed telling her before it was more than a rumor.

Hendricks was there when I looked. It shouldn't be possible for that much mass to be that silent. "I need to get the rest of my stuff." He nodded. "I was thinking now." I got up, and realized it was much harder than John made it look, having a human shadow.

I laughed when I saw the delivery truck. So often I'd been hustled into one or another high priced-car with the bulletproof option package, I hadn't considered the scope of vehicles Marcone had to control.

"Get in."

It was novel not being shoved in back.

Dealing with my apartment was anticlimactic, boxing up books and rolling carpets mostly with some more fiddly packing. Hendricks helped quite a bit. The lab I had to do myself, and I was rather pleased with the spell I used on Little Chicago before I lifted each section into its own box. There was nothing to do about the circle. I took down my wards before getting into the truck. I looked at it all wondering where I'd put it.

Hendricks had an almost-expression. That was the best I could think of it, like the bland thinned. I was fine not breaking the silence as he drove us back. Despite how I had gone back and forth on the issue I really was fine with being alive, if not completely sanguine at how I'd gotten a bodyguard as, what, a bride price? Fairy godmothers.

"Leave those." 

I thought to contradict him, they were my rugs after all.

"I'll have them cleaned."

Okay, so that was a point. The Fae hadn't been there, Since. Hendricks might well be an expert in the field; if not he could lay hands on one. I acquiesced, there hardly being too few things to wedge into my room. The room I was staying in. The room that wasn't John's except was. Yeah, that part I still wasn't great with, but the barge had sailed and I wasn't Cleopatra.

Then I found out what Hendricks' almost-expression was about as he showed me a secret door. "What?" So, it surprised me, the room hidden behind a bookshelf, it even had a bookshelf on the other side. Probably shouldn't surprise me. I wondered if John would accept a fliptop bust of Shakespeare. The other surprising thing was the room was empty. Devoid of decoration. No books on the shelves.

"Will it work for your lab?"

Yes. Yes it would. I went to start poking around, finding water and rations as well as some blankets. I looked at Hendricks, granting that it did make sense when he glanced back in the interrogative. "Just the one door?"

"For here." He showed me another from my bedroom, though this was more akin to a passthrough, the room on the other side being possessed of a normal door as well. It looked like a half-finished set.

I've been told that my expression is very open, that I'm easy to read. "Because you're staying." So I had been wondering. After that we carried load after load, I the things from my lab to my lab, Hendricks pretty much everything else which he stacked in the, what, sitting room?

Once everything was in he brought up sandwiches, no dome this time, setting the platter in the lounge. Whatever.

"Eat."

I considered being balky, but despite how much breakfast I'd eaten, I was hungry. I sat and chowed. I noticed him looking at the boxes. "What?"

"I could start shelving, if you know how you want them arranged."

Right. "Knock yourself out." What, I couldn't admit I was used to putting up books any way they'd fit? I didn't have to keep them in his order if it made no sense. I suspected it would, and probably tell me something about him. He wouldn't let me pump him for information on John but I'd learn something by inference.

He moved faster than should be possible. Yes, he had hands big as hams and could scoop up quite a stack, but he was nimble too. I noticed him looking back at me as he hit books that had been read particularly hard. He didn't balk at putting them on the shelf though.

I got up after I'd finished my second sandwich and started in on a box myself. Naturally it was one with a top coat of knickknacks. I lined things up along the mantel and refolded the towels they'd been wrapped in. Kitchen towels. I got the books onto a shelf and grabbed another box. The books were mostly in the order they'd been on my apartment shelves, lightly shuffled. Another cut didn't disorder them any more.

I wanted my life back. Even though hot showers and food, beds and clothes the right size, were all wonderful things, I mourned my life, when it was still mine. I'd been rendered an appendage.

"Mr. Dresden." I let him take the books from my hands. I wasn't going to pitch a fit. This was my home now, and John had saved my life. I tried not to fry my friends' cars and electronics, though sometimes I failed. I dropped to the floor in front of the hearth. The flue wasn't open. I had no idea how to open it. I checked the logs and dogs. Hendricks did something, and I voiced "Fuego." I'm not a pyro. I do like watching fire. I have at times even enjoyed a blaze after the battle, the flames licking clean whatever had gone so horribly wrong. That generally only lasts until I fall on my ass or someone pulls me away before I drop.

Mostly I like the manifestation of control. Control of my magic, control of the stove, the fireplace, the Weber grill, the candles... When I set things on fire in battle, I'm too busy for anything but winning. Fire would consume without boundaries. With them, it's pretty and warm.

I was, a little, concerned Hendricks would... decide this was a threat. It was a relief when instead he sat back on the couch and ate a sandwich. After he finished he returned to shelving books.

"I'm going to take these down. Do you need more firewood?"

I turned, calmer. "No, not right now." I did notice there wasn't a firebox. Sign the fireplace was for status not practicality. Was. I got up off the floor and settled into the chair. Later I would have to move it back a little, my legs outstretched would be in the fire. It was far enough back for John. I played my hands over the arms. He didn't have to have watched this fireplace, sat in this chair. It was his house, it was natural chairs would be placed according to his measure.

And yet this parlor was off a room clearly made for me. That was a bit strange. Though, he had been trying to hire me since we met (he had, even though at first it was to get me out of the way while he avenged the death of one of his men) and that hadn't worked out. Years he'd tried, though lately I think it was more force of habit, that he'd have been surprised if I'd agreed.

Could be as simple as the housekeeper vacuumed and put the the chair where it would go anywhere else in the house. Or this room was meant as a place for him wait. He could have started using the room while he rued the money he'd wasted in the bedchamber. Nah, I doubted he rued, not meditatively.

How had he not woken up last night?

***

John looked at his Blackberry. He was pleased that Harry had decided to move in, that he wasn't trying to hold onto that shabby apartment, the apartment John had tried every technique to lure Harry from. Not every method; he'd resisted moving on real estate in that part of town specifically because it was Harry's neighborhood. 

Now. He'd gotten the one thing he'd really wanted in years in a terribly wrong way. Oh, he had successes plenty, but acquiring Chicago, bringing order out of chaos was intellectual. Harry had been personal, had been unexpected. Harry was powerful, focused and frustratingly quixotic. Nothing he did was in his best interests.

He wasn't naive. He wasn't even stupid. Oh, Harry could be dumb, but that was different than stupid. No, Harry knew evil and he chose to be good. John thought he'd made a mistake that day, choosing to see if the "wizard" really was. Without seeing to Harry's core he doubted he'd have fallen for him. So much had followed from that failing.

John quirked his mouth. It had made him Baron. It had saved Chicago several times he could count and possibly more times than he knew. He hadn't removed the wizard from the game and time after time the wizard was his ace. John accepted that loving Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden was his Achilles' heel and strangely in Chicago's interest.

John had spared him and Harry saved Chicago as only he could. Harry could have brought him down. He didn't. Harry didn't because he'd figured out that there was no way good could step into the breach John and the Outfit held.

Failure wasn't an option. Somehow John would turn this situation around. He would figure it out. John left the office and started for home.

***

I did it again. I went to John's room and crawled into bed with him. He again didn't wake up and that was disturbing. I considered checking for spells and stopped. I wasn't that subtle even now and I was concerned if I found something I might get in too deep. You'd think that would keep me from sleeping, but no, warm even on top of the sheet I dropped pretty quick.

I got my lab organized. Really, organized. I needed a work table and sort of wished I hadn't abandoned things at my apartment. Little Chicago was oriented correctly, its magic a background hum. Sitting on the floor was going to suck. But getting the ring in was more important. I couldn't do as I had in my subbasement with a concrete floor. I happened in my supplies to have a can of Rustoleum and a brush. That kept me pretty occupied for the rest of the week.

Oh, I did surface, and I did mostly go down for breakfast and I learned that lunch was best eaten before dinnertime. Hendricks left food now in the parlor. I put out the laundry hamper when it filled. It was a small hamper.

I saw John only once more that week without him being asleep at the time. I'd gone down in the evening, thinking I should take the lunch tray down since I'd lost all track of time and didn't eat until four-thirty. "John?"

He turned and smiled his bland good-natured one, looked at his drink and asked if I wanted one.

"Nah. Um, how do I communicate with the kitchen?"

"Something not to your liking?" It didn't sound menacing, which with Marcone meant zip. Or rather could mean ziiip.

"No no no. I just ate late, so I didn't want them going to any bother."

He smiled, this one going to his eyes. "It's not a bother, but I appreciate the concern." He set down his glass and stood. Next thing I knew he had the tray. "I'll let her know. Would you eat with me?"

"Sure." It'd be petty to say no. I really hadn't thought things through coming down. He seemed to be gone by the time I ate breakfast, though in a house this size who knew. Maybe I wouldn't want to go sleep with him if we ate dinner together.

"Settling in?"

I was. I didn't want to fight with him, and I didn't think he wanted to either. I think we were bound to have moments that looked like English literature as black comedy. "Hot and cold running water is such a hardship."

"Good."

And it was. I mean the rest of the evening. We chatted, with very little aim, the sorts of things people with history can draw on, despite our history mostly being conflict and saving Chicago, when we weren't just saving each other. Yeah, we'd done that. Allies do that, right? I accepted his offer of a drink, though what I really wanted was one of Mac's ales. Cold. The scotch was good though and it gave my hand something to do, and excused me when I had nothing to say. Too much to say. When what John was saying was important.

I was rather mirthful when he asked me if I was hungry or didn't mind watching him eat. It verged into confusion as he escorted me into the dining room and headed into the kitchen, returning carrying two plates. "Could you get the candles?"

I spelled them on. "Beans?"

"Very good beans."

They were. Beefy. It struck me as farm food, when things weren't tight. I didn't understand, but I knew for a change that I didn't. He got up a few times, bringing things back to the table. Carafe of wine and glasses, plate of bread and cheese. Pears and other fruit. He didn't seem frustrated doing his own fetching.

"Did you think I didn't give my staff time off?"

I'd really hadn't thought about it. I suppose I figured he had enough kitchen help they were just staggered. "Uh?"

He chuckled. Well, it was a little nicer than that, but "chortle" sounds worse. "Crock-pots are wonderful things. As are professional-grade freezers."

I didn't have anything to say about that and I don't have a head for alcohol. I was more used to having Coke with dinner. Not that I wasn't fine, I was eating beans and bread and didn't have to drive anywhere. I think I might have liked John if only he hadn't become a Don.

Except. "You know about me. Who did you used to be?"

"An angry kid who grew up dangerous, with less reason than the hard young men of Calbriss ." He drank while he let me consider his words. "At least my mother never figured it out." I didn't miss the cross he didn't make but could see he thought. That his fingers struggled to contain. "My grandmother did." He cut a pear and fanned out the pieces.

"And?" I thought he wouldn't answer. I think he thought he wouldn't answer.

"She told me not to get caught, and to know God would judge me." His eyes went gray. Stormy. "She wouldn't take my money after that, wouldn't even let me pay her bills." He ate a piece of pear. "Her grave had beautiful flowers from her grocer, the meter man, the telephone operators." Everyone that was too scared to give Marcone his money back and too scared to keep it after she'd passed.

I. I didn't have words. I didn't have actions. I too ate a piece of pear. 

"She'd have hated you." John smiled a crazy one, probably a smile from when he was just a killer.

"Oh?" I wasn't used to being told someone's grandma, someone's honored dead grandma, would hate me. "Why?" I was afraid it was because I'd caved.

"Because you aren't Italian."

It was ridiculous. And so utterly telling. I laughed. I laughed very hard, and I'm not sure how I stayed in my chair. I ended up draining my glass in a gulp. John refilled it, and I caught myself before draining it again. He might open another bottle if the carafe went dry. I wanted him right then. I needed, but it wasn't the time. I didn't want to interject my godmother into this, I wanted to protect this honesty. Yes, I wanted to protect Gentleman Johnny. At least I'd only had Morgan as the White Council's will trying to execute me. "Guilty as charged."

"So are the Carpenters. She was like that. Not with the neighbors though; there were plenty of honorary Italians in her mind."

I was going to have to tell Michael and Charity. I didn't know if I would keep their friendship, their welcome. I would have to tell Murphy and that was going to be more fraught. I was going to lose SI; that mattered less than it would have, it wasn't like rent was an issue or even ramen. My office rent, but I generally had enough business for that and lunch. I needed to get called when bad stuff came down the pike, even if I wasn't getting paid.

I didn't go to his room that night. I did the next and next.

***

I was in a foul mood the next day after dinner with Dresden and I didn't know why. Maybe because it reminded me of what fae intervention had cost me. I know, that didn't make sense, I doubted we'd have spent such an evening otherwise. Courting him was too fraught now, After, even as I opened up to him. I wouldn't speak to anyone else about my grandmother. Admit I'd had a mother.

Whatever it was settled out again. I was practiced at compartmentalizing. I just hoped I hadn't become so skilled I wouldn't notice if I crossed my lines. Again. As long as I was Chicago's monster I had a reason to exist. I doubted I'd quite produced enough replacements to hold Chicago against takers.

That was the problem I'd gotten myself into by taking over; I had to prepare for once I wasn't here. I would at some point fail and thus fall. That was just a fact, and that could be natural causes or not. I didn't win unless unlike Alexander I left my empire with people able to secure Chicago from within and without.

A wizard didn't measure life in decades past the first century. I wanted to secure Dresden's survival, but I couldn't protect him too much. He needed to stand without the Outfit. He might have to take it out after me. He would be the only one who could, that wouldn't set up in the spoils.

That was part of his attraction. Which wasn't to say I didn't find the whole package appealing, though mouthiness and low grooming weren't generally sexy. I've wanted to burn all his clothes so I could replace them. Notice that I never did, and now they've my protection. My housekeeper is under orders to never consider anything that comes out of Harry's room a rag. I trust with other options he will wear his more ancient tees less.

***

My week was over. It was time to face the world, or at least my office. I spent the morning calling back prospective clients. Okay, and also a few games of Klondike. I like Klondike. I feel worse when I cheat at other solitaires. I called Murphy before lunch. Well, before I had lunch. I was going to need to speak to her face to face. Somewhere I never went.

"Murph."

"Dresden, where the hell have you been?! Did you lose your apartment? You should have called."

"I should have called? No, I didn't lose my apartment, my rent was current. We need to talk though, somewhere my car can get to." I had the devil's own time getting Hendricks to allow me that. I wasn't going to call it dignity; there was little dignified about a man my height and an ancient Beetle. Who would notice a discreet tail when the lead was a multicolored Bug? No, anyone that did would figure I was convenient cover. I was going to have to figure things out when I had a case.

She came up with somewhere to meet, and when I got there I was a little sorry, it seemed a nice place. I let us get comfortable, let the food come. "I moved out. I've moved in with Marcone." I hadn't thought she'd spit-take. Good thing I'd worn something dark.

"You. What?"

"I sort of had to. My godmother put a binding on us."

"On you and Marcone? What did the two of you do to piss her off?"

That was an interesting question. "Well, I don't think that was her reasoning. At least, nothing Marcone had done. It was more directed at me." I wasn't going into the details with Karrin. She'd expect me to turn evidence. No, no, and no. There shouldn't be any evidence by now. If I'd paid a security deposit I'd have expected it back come the end of the month. I bet the apartment was now cleaner than it'd been when I'd moved in. And most of while I lived there. His people are like that.

"Binding?"

"Think of it like the Odd Couple without Oscar or Felix. Or any of those escape sequences but with a very long chain."

"What did he get on you?" I almost spit-taked, until I figured out she thought John was blackmailing me. Geeze. "Your godmother, really?" She knew that between the two Marcone wasn't the scarier. Fae were scarier than lawyers, and my godmother was scarier than the Outfit's lawyers.

"Really." Okay, maybe I'd be able to come back here.

"How long have you been sleeping with him?"

"What?!" Scratch that. Okay, they might not have heard what she said. "Why would you think that? It's not true. Not really. Not like you think." That they heard. 

Her expression got much much colder. "Harry, please explain what that means."

"It means we aren't having sex." We weren't. I suck at lying. Murphy knows that. As long as I tell the truth she'll have to believe me.

"But you will." She went flintier. "Or you have."

I grabbed her wrists. Dumb, dumb I know but I needed her to stay at the table. "Sorta. Look, we're married now and the fae don't recognize divorce. It's a threshold unless we mess it up."

"Sorta?" I don't think the Winter Queen could sound colder.

Murphy is a cop. I didn't rape Marcone and while I was sketchy of late there were extenuating circumstances. I had reason to believe the chain wasn't really all that long. "I hope we will. Otherwise it's going to be a very long marriage." Or a short one. Even with the fae involved I expected death would dissolve the union.

"Take your hands off me." I did. I wasn't stupid. Not that stupid. "Isn't there a way out? There is normally a way out."

Proof that I'm not stupid, I didn't tell her why there wasn't a way out. "No. It's cast. Better than concrete."

"Something you'll know a lot more about, I'm sure." She scowled. "Now I can't even tell you to pick up the check."

"Not that I could. Took last week off, and haven't had a client today."

She snorted. I think ladies are allowed to snort now, that you can call it that when they do. Murphy would beat anyone who said otherwise. "Only you, Harry."

We finished our lunch quietly, companionably. She paid the bill and I let her. I did leave a tip after she'd exited. Left me busted. Not to the penny, but folding wise. I drove back to the office. Read a paperback hard. When I figured I'd given the day a good run I touched base with Hendricks. I figured he should know my plan to drop by the Carpenters'.

I wasn't sure I was angling for a dinner invite. Okay, I probably was, insomuch as one needed an invite. Even oversized wizards weren't much extra company, and I got sucked into the cyclone. I really didn't know how Charity did it. I pretty much exhausted my abilities with opening a can and heating the contents. Mac and cheese was a bit of a stretch for me.

I hadn't really thought things out well. I should have come after dinner, once the kids were tucked in. Daniel however figured out I wasn't just over for the food and herded his younger siblings off. Adults and Molly. Yeah, I guess she needed to know too. The Council didn't require me to see her every week; suppose a former Fist of God was pretty good assurance.

"I got married and moved out of my apartment." At least I hope that's what I said. I might have been talking a little fast.

Charity looked at me, in that way she had that met me everywhere except the eyes. I'd never had a mother, she'd died giving birth to me. Maybe it was why Charity scared me so much. "You never mentioned you were seeing someone."

That was untrue. I'd mentioned at various times Marcone followed me. I was not dumb enough to say that. "Well, it was a little sudden."

Michael tried to rescue me. "Who is she?"

"He." Now, I didn't think that would get me thrown out, the Church notwithstanding. That was the next part, which I sort of hoped they'd still be thinking on the first and not really hear. I mentioned I didn't have a mother? "You know him. John."

I suppose that worked for a little bit, until...

"John Marcone. You married John Marcone and moved in with him."

"I wasn't going to marry him and not move in." Yeah, I must have rolled really bad.

"Harry, I think you'd better start at the beginning." Michael, voice of reason.

I almost started at the Big Bang, or Genesis, or even my father buying my mother a cup of coffee. That was a good story. "My fairy godmother has no sense of humor." That could be quibbled I supposed but as the victim it was my truth that mattered.

"He was the first person you saw?"

Right, Molly. Damn. I gathered out all the change I had in my pockets and plopped it into Charity's hands. "No." I didn't have the funds to say anything that was coming to mind. "I have to go." I couldn't do this.

Molly grabbed my wrist and I think she must have been helping her mom at the forge. I plopped back onto my chair. "What did she do?"

This was a mistake. I'd gotten off easy with Murphy. I should have said something else. Why hadn't I said something else?

"Molly, would you leave us?" Michael smiled at his daughter.

She looked at me, then her dad, and back to me. "Okay." It may have been the most mature thing she's done.

"An unfortunate euphemism, Harry."

"Huh?" I looked to Michael, seeing the aftereffects of his battle against the Denarians. His compassion was difficult to accept, as always a gift too large. Then I got it. "It wasn't a euphemism. Not just a euphemism." If I was going to be honest I couldn't do it by halves. "She decided I shouldn't be alone, and made it a matter of life or death. He picked life." I wasn't admitting I'd chosen death. I figured that would flout the Church too much.

"Do you think that's marriage?" Michael looked at me sadly.

"It is to the Fae." If I was a different man, if Marcone was someone else it might not matter. We were who we were and bound we would be. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't." I needed to go. I wasn't sure I was going to drive once I left.

I was surprised by the grip on my hand. "You are always welcome here." I squeezed her hand back. That, coming from her, really did mean the world to me. So did Michael's hug. I left my Beetle and got in the back of the car Hendricks was driving. Before I headed to my room I gave Hendricks the key to my car. I needed to talk to John, but not tonight.

***

"You want to do what?"

"Don't be so offended." Admittedly I didn't actually need the towel I'd brought with me, it was a prop, his bathroom was amply stocked. The mug and brush were a concession to Harry's effect on anything too modern. I'd already had to make revolvers a required proficiency of my top men. "Can you honestly say that you have ever had a good shave?" The razor was better than what I used myself. For a certain value of better; sometimes I shaved with one of my knives. Bravado, that. This cutthroat I'd autoclaved myself, honed it afterwards. Eventually there would be some event, White Council- or Accords-related, perhaps fae-sponsored, and we would go together. It was better to get him accustomed to a proper close shave now than trying to spring it on him for a specific occasion.

It probably said too much that Harry had never thought to heat water for a shave. Inference. I knew he'd been orphaned as a child, his foster father killed when he was still a boy. I'd met Ebenezer; he was likely many times over his seeming seventy years. Even if not, his beard suggested shaving wasn't one of his pleasures.

"Fine."

He stepped back and I entered, headed into his bath. I was a bit startled at the contact paper over the medicine cabinet mirror. That would certainly interfere with a good shave without assistance. There hadn't even been a mirror in his apartment's bathroom. "Isn't there a less encompassing cure for mirrors?" I got the towel very hot and wrung it out.

"No point." He said it from the doorframe.

At least he sat without me having to ask him to. I placed the towel on his face and ran a bit of water into the mug.

I should have been scared. When the local Don shows up at your door with a wicked razor... Yeah, if I wasn't living in his mansion, maybe. I wasn't too worried even though I couldn't see. I could tell right where he was, and I had to admit the towel felt nice.

He took it away, and that would have been bad except the lather he brushed on was pretty warm as well. Then he was coming at my face with a knife. I repeated to myself that I was in his bathroom and he wasn't going to harm me. He could have left me to die with no ties to him.

The angle was unaccustomed, and Dresden's face has... Yes. I got his cheeks, jaw, upper lip and chin smooth, then lifted his head back and made the long strokes of his neck. He had his eyes closed. I rinsed off the razor and then the brush. The mug I left, as I did the drying brush. I took the razor with me. I left, dropping a checkbook into his top drawer.

I felt my face. I almost pulled up a corner of the contact paper, but wasn't sure alcohol would cut the mastic. It felt different. I felt different. I was also pissed off because I knew I wasn't slipping into John's room tonight. Any night.

I'd have to confront him.

I didn't do it that night or even the next. I found the checkbook and Marcone had "business" that night. I didn't want to talk to him the following evening. Then I was on a case and all sorts of things were moot.

I did have the mercy to tell Hendricks to start drawing circles around the electronics. My frustration was building and I had little question that it would break, snap, lash out like a flail. Questions about where and when, but it wasn't negotiable. The case was fairly petty as these things go, which didn't mean people hadn't been harmed, even killed. Yeah, that's my life; naturally I wanted this one sewed up two days ago. I suspected that there were additional teeth to my godmother's binding. I wanted to strip John naked and I also wanted to throw the checkbook at him. Not both together, thank you.

I supposed it was possible I still had a whammy on me. It wasn't like she had the restraints, magical or moral, of a mortal practitioner. It didn't feel like that. What did I know? I asked Bob. I'd been consulting Bob about the case, but each time I warned him not to look at me.

"That looks painful. Better make mafia mambo--"

"Bob!"

"Valid prescription. Nothing to lay but lay itself. He's sex in a suit, what's that like, letting the tiger out?"

"I don't kiss and tell." I got a bit lost in memory. "Am I still being magicked?"

"What part of 'bound' didn't you catch?" Bob paused for only a moment. "What you're feeling is yours, just with a little kickstart. I can't recommend ratcheting it up like this. The more you are apart the fonder the longing."

***

John was unsettled. He was rarely unsettled and it rankled like an ill-fitted suit. He'd made an error giving Harry a shave, the muscle memory was playing havoc with his focus. It was too easy to imagine various liberties, which in turn led to the forbidden memories and then a full and complete stop. 

The next day was so much the worse than the one prior. The following--he did a bit of digging and found someone was embezzling. What was worse, they were from one of his legitimate enterprises. It was a delicate matter to properly scare the severed employee without anything incriminating transpiring on his side; after that the lawyers and the cops were welcome to the transgressor.

He was regretting assigning Hendricks to Dresden, because Hendricks was the only one besides Harry who would call him on his shit. Harry was frequently wrong, but marshaling a retort was bracing; Hendricks was not except on those rare occasions he held his tongue when he'd have been better speaking.

John didn't regret it because he knew that the two would each concede to the other's expertise. Harry didn't have that rapport with any of his other men. Neither did John.

***

I strode through the mansion looking for Marcone. I'd broken my case, the cops had taken in the all-too-mundane poisoner, and delays weren't in my plans. I opened yet another door and spared a stray thought to the cut-off music before I noticed John dropping the remote as he stood. I was slipping.

"Mr. Dresden."

It was the wrong thing to say. It was the wrong tone to say it in. I reached into my duster and slapped him with the checkbook. "I don't want your money." I crowded him.

I flipped the knife in my hand and then set it down carefully on the table. My other hand pressed against his chest. It gave him an advantage, keeping him at a remove with his long arms. I lifted my now empty hand to his cheek, stroking fingertips over the fine bite of stubble. He'd shaved.

I kissed the questing fingers. This wasn't what I'd expected, the furious boil I'd had on the floor of my apartment. I wrapped my arms around him, leaned my head against his meticulous hair and breathed. Just breathed. I was out of my depth.

He kissed me, just a sweet peck on the mouth and then more seriously on my neck. Hell's bells if he didn't know how to kiss. I needed and he seemed to know what I needed before I did, everything just what I needed. Almost. My fingers tried to push buttons past holes but it wasn't working. I needed to touch him.

I felt him skin off my duster, heard the whump of it landing on the couch. I'd swear he had more than two hands, but none of them were smart enough to get under my shirt. I helped them. Yes, yes like molten syrup. I cradled the back of his head as he set off fireworks. I did not have that many erogenous zones. Did not, and I'd been in this body my whole life. I dropped into the chair that was behind me. Magic.

I didn't know the half, and then my pants were open and--my eyes were wide because that, that, that was a hallucination and it felt... I had to close them, the sensation was more amazing than words. Fantastic. It had looked, him there, me, my, his mouth.

I didn't expect him to swallow. It wasn't surprise, he'd have had to have known, his jaw had to be aching. I glanced down, afraid; like a cat he cleaned his face with his fingers and then licked his fingers clean.

"Sleep in my bed." Harry was sprawled boneless in the chair, legs wide, and putting that goofy expression on his face gave me so much pride. I tucked him in, zipped him up and pulled him from the chair. "Please."

"'Kay." I'd have agreed to much worse things then, though the only thing I could think of was sleeping alone. Actually, I did pull him down with me as I dropped into his palatial bed, in case he didn't mean to join me.

I scattered kisses over his face and disentangled myself from him, pulled the blankets from under him and stripped him. I turned the covers over him and went into my bathroom. I brought the wrung-out hot washcloth back and cleaned him up, more from his day than our nightcap. I undressed and slid in beside him, pausing only to put my gun into the bedstand.

***

It took me a moment to remember last night, to grasp John knew I was here. It was dark, and warm, and I was still partially asleep. I was naked,I realized. It gets cold in Chicago, in a basement, no longer an issue. My hand spread open over John's back; his arm was slung over my waist. He, I hadn't expected, that, last night.

"Should oil that wheel." His hand starfished at the small of my back.

"You--" I hadn't considered, hadn't thought. I realized I still had my pentacle on and I just had to see his face. He was smiling in the blue light.

"Yes?"

"You're a cocksucker."

I arched a brow at that. Only Harry could be that boneheadily blunt. His confusion was painted over his face in broad strokes. "Any complaints?" It had been awhile after all.

"No. I, just, you, you're Gentleman Johnny."

I laughed. I knew I shouldn't but there was no urbane nor droll response to that. He slid next to me. "You're a private dick." He was a poor influence on me. "What's your pleasure?"

I tried to get away, nominally. Marcone didn't try to stop me, just resisted casually, the inertia of his muscled arm holding me in place. I was hard. I let the light go out.

"I assure that making love to you isn't onerous." He kissed me on a cheekbone and I know his aim isn't poor. I rolled onto my back. I wanted to touch him.

"Turn your light back on." He wasn't over me. I did, curiosity being one of my talents. He was lying back, hands behind his head. It didn't make sense. His green eyes met mine. Permission; invitation. I spread my hand over his chest. I flipped the blankets back and put my hand back on him.

His body is a weapon. I think I've known that as long as I've known him. I just refused to acknowledge the beauty of blood and bone bent to brawn. Body bent to will. His life is scrawled on his skin, pale tracery whispering of blades and bullets that tried to snuff him out. He's warm. I stretch out a pinky to flick over a nipple. Oh, I've found a sure way to break his control! I start mapping out others and he pulls me over him. He does have more than two hands. He has to, they're everywhere.

It's strange. I know I'm not experienced for my age, my few relationships have each left me leery, but I thought I knew something about sex. Nothing. Nothing. I melted, pooled, draped, clung to him. I wanted to seep into corners he'd forgotten. I could feel him resisting flipping us over, though I couldn't figure why. His foot stroked against my calf, his palms cupped my head, my ass, my shoulders, everywhere, they were everywhere. I needed to be everywhere. I moved against him, grinding us together. I was stupid with desire.

I tried to move away, after, and his arms wrapped around me. I had to be heavy, I was sinew and bone, ill-padded and long. He hooked a leg over mine. Fine. I'd learned that what he wanted he'd have. Except me. I'd resisted him. I didn't have the fight left. I didn't want to fight this, whatever this was. I was wanted.

I didn't cry. I didn't. Yeah, I totally leaked tears.

***

Birdsong announced the coming dawn. I rolled, ruing the way we pulled apart, dried together as we were. I picked up my discarded clothes and washcloth and headed into the bathroom. I came back with a fresh washcloth and started with his face, working down. He was all levers, limbs and joints, his chest lean, pelvis protecting his groin. His magic isn't the whole of Dresden, much as he seems to think it is. He does things no sane man should. He survives them, dares the world to take him back.

After I return the wet rag to the bathroom, I get back into bed. I've not earned this, I don't deserve it, but that's never stopped me from knowing what's worth fighting for, savoring. He should never have been so alone. He curled back against me, and I surrendered to sleep again.

***

I awoke to the warmth of sunlight across my neck, the heat next to me, the weight of a slung over arm across my ribs. Two green eyes met mine.

"This may be a long day."

With that he got up. Myself, I'm pretty self-conscious of my nudity despite the public indecency that occurred when I had a demon bust in while I was showering. Marcone isn't. Figures; it'd be more disturbing if his shamelessness wasn't down to the bone. I tried to get a grip on last night, how anger about that checkbook had turned into sex.

I needed to get out of his bed. I was still tired, and this bed was warm. I got up and found my clothes; noticed his weren't on the floor and he hadn't taken them when he'd walked like Adam before the Fall. I got dressed.

"You didn't need to on my account."

I couldn't quite place the off-note; I may have been distracted by him putting on clothes. "Hungry, going to find breakfast." Wanted to ask him to join me; his kitchen, his cook, didn't think I had the chutzpah this morning.

"Good."

Could it be right for a mob boss to have a nice smile? I left. Despite being cleaner than when I'd gotten back from the crime scene, I swung by my room for a quick shower and change of clothes before stepping into the dining room.

I spread out my own placemat and sure enough one of the kitchen staff came out, looked me over and headed back in. I don't know if they do that to Johnny, but I've found it works well for me. I've never gotten anything I didn't want and plenty that I didn't know existed but was perfect. Much of it wouldn't meet some people's definition of breakfast food, though Kellogg's may have something to do with that. What's not to love about eggs and chili con carne?

I went and found Mouse and let him take me for a walk. He got more exercise now, and he knew all the best spots of the grounds; the mansion is on a full block and landscaped at the high end, so everything looks much more casual than it is. That and there are trees enough that what happens on the grounds stays on the grounds until it's taken away.

Yeah. That's the reality, there's a ring of trees whose grassy clearing is an execution grounds. It also has a series of artificial pools that shame those at many tea houses, the result of a tiger trap once dug there. A trap John was strung over as bait. I don't go there.

After a rousing game of fetch, though maybe "throw" would be more apt as Mouse is smarter than me, I headed in and went into the lab. "Bob, lazy bones, you've got work."

He whistled. I don't know how without lips he whistles, but any speech has many more issues that just that. He's in a skull. That wolf whistles. "Cut that out."

"Looks good on you. Wonder what he looks like with your aura all over him."

"What?"

"You look like a cheerleader wearing a letterman jacket. What did you do? Don't skip the details."

"No."

"Aww."

I'd say Bob was distracted but he was quite dedicated in peppering his magical instructions with lewd queries. I had decided that it was time to replace, upgrade and generally expand my foci, now that I wasn't living hand-to-mouth. I was a little rough on them. My shield bracelets never were the sturdiest of materials in particular and slagging them was fairly easy; better than me getting slagged. It was a good thing my wrists were comparably dainty for my height, picking over the Hot Topic discount rack as I did.

I stepped out of the lab and into the parlor to inhale lunch. How was this going to work? Okay, so we'd been allies more often than not, more or less willing catspaws to the other on occasion. I was able to ignore why John had men to send into battle when they were the only hope mortals had against the bumps in the night. Didn't living here make me an accessory?

He never burdened me with specifics. Okay, Executive Priority was over the top, but much closer to a victimless crime than street prostitution. There was a price to be paid for the drug trade, the weapons running, and all the other pies, beyond Chicago being a restricted fire zone. What would he be doing tonight?

It had been good, waking up together, exploring John's body, the blowjob. Dinner, the walk on the grounds had also been good, the shave as well. For what it was, so had--

I didn't know what to do with that. "In my apartment", "under the influence", "the fuck or die;" by the end I wasn't clawing him to make him stop. Not just at the end, not really. It said something about me that I was okay with this and hadn't known that about myself, hadn't known that I wanted Gentleman Johnny to be flirting with me.

Fucking me. This was so screwed up; at least in that I was consistent. I'd sort of assumed, yeah I know about that one, that John was merely flexible when he'd saved me from myself. He doesn't like losing; newsflash I know. It hadn't occurred to me--

I didn't really know anything. Marcone was scary outstanding at lots of things, some through training and practice, and others by determination. The thought of that will focused on me seared, leaving me raw and juicy inside.

I headed out to play more throw with Mouse. There was also some wizard herding on his part, making me zig and zag around some of the clearer parts of the grounds. This might have been disturbing to security, but Marcone has them well-trained. And Mouse is big--if he isn't in stealth mode, he reads from some distance.

I let him bring me back in after several hours. He had a water and food bowl in the mudroom near the pantry. They looked much heavier than the mixing bowls I had been using. I noticed that Mister also had upgraded bowls, though his old food dish was also in the lineup. Cats. Mob boss meets his match.

I wanted my food dish. I was used to being able to eat when I wanted, saying I had something in the ice box or cupboard. Drawer of my desk. Change in my pocket. I couldn't go into the kitchen. 

Turned out that it was feeding time and I took the tray from Hendricks. I might just have startled him. I went into the dining room, willing the candles lit. It really is a marvel how fast Cujo moves, this time to deploy something for me to set the tray on. Not quite like he was scared, he was there before me after all, like he'd been taking Pennyworth lessons at a dojo.

He may have. I ate my dinner. I may have eaten someone else's dinner too, because once I finished what was on the tray there was still more food. Did John have a kitchen witch? Minor practitioners didn't have the same effect on electrical equipment as I did. Life would be much harder for baristas otherwise.

I don't really have a bottomless stomach or a hollow leg, though had the plates not been carted away after each addition the table would have groaned. Wizards have a long lifespan, if they don't carry on like I do. That might explain why they mostly don't carry on like I do; between the soulgazes and Sight, the wear, tear and oh, right, vicious terror, if I survive to a century I'll be madder than a hatter. A century is just getting mature for a wizard.

I finished eating and made for my room away from home. I needed to rearrange things. It wasn't feng shui exactly, but having so much Marcone around when I slept, without him himself--I get that I'm a mess, really, I do, but that didn't change the fact that I needed to do Something. So I emptied the shelves around the bed. I gathered together some of my favored objects and books and brought them in. I hunted through Marcone's thoughts and allowed those that related back on the shelves. I kept going until the shelves were filled, then took the remainder into the parlor and fitted them in with my books.

Better. Right now I wanted to boss Marcone around but I'd take moving around his stuff, the stuff he tried to lure me with. Something like that. I didn't know just what this suite was meant to be, to do. I couldn't find out because tonight Chicago had dibs on Johnny.

That actually wasn't a bad way to think of matters. We both wanted to secure Chicago. I mostly thought of that in terms of super- and preternatural threats, while John rode the tiger that was Criminal Enterprise like a bull market. From time to time we switched. Sort of, more him than me, other than when fae, vampires or whatever got into vice. I suppose I should wonder what his men thought about battling things that clearly weren't human. Could I really say they, for their crimes, deserved fighting all the bumps that tried to happen in Chicago's night?

I took a bath. I know, that didn't solve anything, but hot water, the literal article, was right there at the turn of a knob. Afterwards I went to bed. It had been a full day of nothing. I should have drifted off quickly, I was full, warm, wearing sinful pajamas and in a bed I'd marry if it wouldn't be bigamy.

I liked sleeping with company. It wasn't something I'd gotten to do a lot, between clandestine matters with Elaine under Justin's roof and the scheduling issues with Susan prior to her departure. I wanted that more than blowjobs.

Not instead, mind you. I liked blowjobs very much, thank you. This bed, big enough for me, which was saying something, would never do for two. Not if Marcone was involved, which was sort of given. 

Except it wasn't given, which was why I wasn't going to sleep. I wasn't going to skulk into his room and sleep in his bed without him there. Instead I used last night's muscle memory to convince myself I had a mob boss body pillow. It worked.

***

Trust my operation to throw a wheel at a singularly inopportune time. It could have been worse, I could have had an incident concurrent with the aftermath of Then. I pride myself on having bought all the cops and inspectors susceptible to the lure of unearned gain. I cull the ones whose greed outstrips their usefulness. ATF. Dirty agents were trying to route weapons through the edge of Chicago, their trucks driven by venal men willing to "lose a crate" for a price.

I was ever torn by the enterprise certain elements demonstrated while they hastened the decay of their neighborhoods. It was a quagmire that I kept the Outfit away from, an unwinnable war to the forces I controlled. Instead I leveraged dirty politicians to not be part of the problem. Funded with extreme discretion possible solutions.

I didn't like child soldiers in my Chicago. I didn't trust the public to notice they were children. Armor-piercing bullets would carve through cast iron tubs and walls, killing and recruiting in turn. This is where owning all the corrupt men and women is useful. I could keep them from tripping up the good cops.

Things with Harry were delicate, and I didn't trust myself to hold matters far enough from him. I needed to be Chicago's monster, and I was. The good guys got the small fish, I took the ones too large for their nets. There were funerals for evil men mantled in the obligations they'd foresworn.

***

He called. I could tell something was going down and he called. Not for very long, he didn't say much, but he called. I hadn't realized there was a phone in my parlor. It looks more like a sculpture and weighs like a noir murder weapon. Oddly good balance.

I found a case, he got done with whatever it had been, we didn't cross but paths not meeting. The damn checkbook somehow got back into my rooms. I wondered if I could smack him with it again and get laid.

Look. I'm a man, and there isn't a lot I think about. Sure, magic; not much interested in sports.  
My godmother had married me off and damn it I wanted the benefits. Other than the well-fed and warm, which I had to admit beat the alternative.

Turned out I didn't need the checkbook. I came back, sodden with rain and stripping out of the worst of my clothes onto anything that wasn't wood or carpet. It was the best I could do for the housekeepers.

Marcone was wearing a tux, the tie hanging around his neck. The robe over his arm and slippers in the other hand was a bit strange. "Finish stripping and get a shower."

Hendricks must have called him. Hendricks, who was somewhere getting stitches after interfering in the business of not just wizards but dragons. Dragons. Plural. Don't ask. I was sopping and the rain had only gotten so far into my clothes, so I did shed to my skin. The fabric splatted. I figured the slippers were to protect the carpets. I went upstairs.

When I got out of the shower, I was having an olfactory hallucination. I smelled steak and cheesy potatoes. I went into my parlor. John had lost the jacket. "You dreamed of being a maître d'." It was the food I was drooling for. 

"Drink first." I handed him the snifter, figuring the alcohol could kill what he'd been wallowing in. He'd used the citrus shampoo, which had lifted the worst of the reek he'd dragged in bearing. He sat and I did too. I wasn't sure if him wearing a robe was a sign of anything more than eagerness to eat.

Watching Harry eat reminded me of the zoo, before the improvements to caretaking. I was too grateful he'd accept my food to say anything about how he fell on it. I also accepted that a wizard both worked up an appetite and dealt with things that could stifle it. I'd rather he'd eat, no matter how indecorous.

Hendricks had given me warning of the state Harry was in sartorially. I was going to have the clothes incinerated, and Ms. Gard deal with his duster. "Your boots will be a loss." He shrugged. I had the terrible thought that he'd have tried salvaging them. "Dragons?"

"Alligators in the sewers are a myth."

I wanted to know how his case had led to this, but how to ask escaped me. I didn't own him, and I couldn't share the details of my own days. I had to, until presented evidence to the contrary, trust he wouldn't rush into too much more than he could handle. Not without an ironclad reason. I didn't expect him to change other than to take better care, or let me do it for him.

I looked around, noticing that he'd moved books from the bedroom out here. Not all of them, though. His carpets were on the floor, mostly covering the berber beneath. Too bad I'd not known the palette he preferred when I'd furnished his rooms.

"John."

I turned. He didn't say it as a challenge, as had been his wont, the excuse for me calling him Harry. He'd cleaned his plate. He dropped his hand onto my thigh. I looked into his rust-rootbeer eyes. I smiled and waited.

I kissed him. I didn't care that he was mafia. I had had a hell of a day and I was having a kickass night. Marcone caught up quickly, his hands here there and everywhere. His shirt didn't have buttons, just these studs. And cufflinks. The buttons were on his trousers.

The couch was too small. He had a taste for large couches, barges among furniture, they were littered around the house and his offices. Not here, not this one, and my bed was no better. I tipped him onto the floor in front of the fireplace.

He felt good, so good, he brought his legs over mine. I braced on my forearms, stroking his hair. His mouth; he tastes so good, smells so good. I reared up; John didn't like that, his arms beseeched. I licked my right hand and wrapped it around us. That looked, our cocks, I looked up into his eyes. They weren't faded-money green; brightest peridot, veering darker. He took my mouth, knitting one of his many hands into my hair. That, how did that feel so good? I needed more hands. I wanted to touch so much more at once. I rubbed against him, not just my thrusting hips, my chest, my gangly legs, my face.

The firelight hid most of his scars, white ones lost in the reflections off his skin. He wasn't turned off by what he could see of me, though my flexing hand might have biased him. His hands clamped onto my hips. I pulled my hand from the deathtrap of bone. So much to touch, so little time. Close, close, clo---

I dropped like an anvil. Eventually John shifted me, still sprawled out over him, just aligning hollows with certain exhausted bits of anatomy. We smelled like sex, and I wanted not to be so tired. Bed. Should find a bed. "Come on." Somehow I rolled back onto my shins, using my whole body for leverage.

He shouldn't be able to stand like that, an animal springloaded, a predator ready to hunt. Not prey, not prey, take me to your tree. "Bed." I spun with my whole body, throwing my head to my door. I could see a calculation made, and we were propelling in. Blankets burrowed under. He fell asleep kneading my torso. Sleep was good.

Waking up to breakfast was jolting.

"I called down for it." John closed the inner door.

Oh. I pushed down the panic. Food. Food was good. John was holding a tray. "Eat with me?" He smiled. Really smiled. He also brought the food closer.

There were no games while we ate, other than some smiling on his part, which shifted around while I looked at him in confusion. It was a little strange, but warm enough, eating in bed naked. He'd shed the robe before getting back in, his leg hot against mine. Companionable.

"I like sleeping together." I didn't look at him while I said it, put a forkful of food in my mouth after.

"Likewise."

I looked at him. I bet there was a time he didn't talk like that. I wondered what it would take to get past the façade. "This bed's a bit small."

He laughed. He touched my face, fingertips pressing me to turn to look at him. He kissed me on the nose. The bridge, not the tip. "You noticed."

I closed my eyes. I wanted him, but the food was still straddling me. The image of John straddling me played on my eyelids. I opened them. He moved the tray. He moved the world.

Harry wasn't wrong that his bed was small, for two grown men when one of them was him. It was however not the floor and I had no compunctions this time against sprawling over him. So much I wanted. 

First I inventoried his responses. Before it had been about hitting as many cylinders as possible, as fast as I could. Now I wanted much more subtle, detailed information. Naturally Harry attempted to rush me, and just as assuredly I didn't permit him to, though I did stage intermittent encores of pleasure as reward for tolerance if not patience.

How could a man with so many hands be so slow? I'd been right about his will being focused on me, it was just like slow roasting, leaving me crispy on the outside and pull-apart tender inside. I suppose that should be more disturbing, but actually it made me hungry for barbecue. And impatient for him to get to the ecstatically better part; really, I knew this wasn't anything less than good. There was a moment where I thought he was going to go down on me (much disappointment when it passed) and another when I thought a finger was getting rather personal. I shoved the mixed reaction to that aside.

Yes! Finally he stopped playing games. How many hands does he have?! His ass is remarkably squeezable. When he doesn't want to flip over, he's just as immobile on top as he is on bottom. Oh. He took me apart.

I rearranged him for his comfort, and sank into the remaining space. Why he twisted into a pretzel would require more thought than I had available. I'd asked Hendricks to shuffle my schedule while ordering breakfast and was informed I had no meetings until two. I should talk to him about reorganizing my day while being patched up. I drowsed a little, soaking up satisfied Harry.

His stubble caught on my calluses. It was still sandpapery, but would turn to beard in a couple more days. Anyone else would be violently ill after last night's dunking. I was pleased he was clean, warm, rested and fed.

I wasn't alone. When I wake up, that's something I'm quick to notice. My mind supplied that John had brought me breakfast and then shorted me out. I clutched the memory of him falling asleep last night. He'd been driving just now. "Work?"

"Not just yet. Do you have plans for the morning?"

Plans? "Call my client. Get a few to finish--" I clamped down on that sentence. I couldn't believe I started that sentence. "Telling me about their problems." I doubted he'd find that convincing. Of course he made an expression that would make the dairy board believe butter doesn't melt in his mouth. I didn't trust that. I knew how hot that mouth was.

I got out of bed. I couldn't think this close to him.

"Harry."

"Don't." I realized that might be misunderstood. "Let me handle business my way."

"May I take care of you?"

I boggled.

"Your coat isn't ready." Marcone got out of bed, my bed, that he bought. "I won't interfere in the affairs of your agency without your express request." The bed that he bought too small. The first bed big enough for me.

"But you will in my affairs."

"This is hardly an affair. I do however need to know what you need to be happy."

Less talking would be a good start.

"I also reserve stepping in should Chicago's safety be at risk."

"No micromanaging."

"Eat well and dress warmly. Rest some."

"Fine." My deadbeats should be grateful I don't let that status become literal.

"Shower?"

Why not? I clearly had not considered the consequences of hot water and a man part octopus. Slippery, the good kind. I didn't have much experience with that; drenching slime, yes, my back being soaped up, no. Wait a minute. I tried turning around to question Marcone, but he rubbed shampoo into my hair. Hell's bells, no wonder Thomas was working as a hairdresser, finger-food all day. Okay, so this was a bit different, but my being naked was somewhat immaterial, despite John pressed against me. Not that he was disinterested. No, that wasn't it.

Obsessive freak, exhibition cars were detailed less carefully than this. I clamped my hand over his soaping my inner thigh. He rinsed us off, pulled us out and started drying me before permitting me to take the towel. Does he ever look ridiculous? People are goofy, awkward. It's like he refused that memo.

I went into my room and got dressed.

I put the robe back on. I wanted to kill everyone that had made Harry ashamed of his body, knowing I'd be on the list. I didn't know how to fix this. I squeezed his shoulder.

He looked at me. Surprised, a little shy. I smiled, not one of my public ones, but a sardonic quirk. Harry wasn't conventionally handsome, not a sanitized theme attraction of masculinity. Striking might be apt, as was raw, excessive-- dressed properly he was the epitome of the fortuneteller's tall, dark and handsome. Nature primeval poured into flesh.

Dressed as he was wont on his own lack of budget he looked like a mad scarecrow, exacerbated by an insufficient diet. People prefer power wrapped in the trappings of wealth, and poverty stigmatized with weakness.

"Let me get dressed." I headed for my room.

Harry was not weak. Life had not been kind to him and yet he got up time and again, literally fighting monsters time and again. I respected that. He recognized that I was a monster. I loved him for that, inconvenient as it was to my property. Too many are willing to compromise themselves, not because I'm the evil they know, but because I'm powerful. They endanger Chicago.

I found him in his parlor, Mister draped across his lap. The cat, if truly that's what it was, looked at me with not exactly disdain, nor exactly challenge. I sat next to Harry. 

He, Marcone sat next to me, put his arm behind me. I may have scooted towards him a little. I didn't understand. It's not like the head of the Outfit could be as lacking for companionship as a private eye with technology problems.

"You. You're--"

"Married to you. I did mention that I take that seriously."

"Gay?" The biggest tell John has is that he has no tells. None. It's not natural, and it demonstrates the freaky obsession-fueled self-control he practices, excels at. However, I've built up something of a proficiency with his lacunae.

"You say that like it's supposed to be shocking. No, more properly I'd have to be classed as equal-opportunity."

It was a bit of lie, insofar that I preferred men and that was inconvenient in my position; opportunity wasn't equal. There however were intriguing women who liked playing with fire, who were pleasant diversions. Both had lost pertinence now.

"Oh."

Harry might bluster and burn my buildings but he is singularly easy to read. I hadn't especially believed his supposed affair with Thomas Raith. The masquerade was unsubtle for a member of the White Court, though the audience had mitigating selection characteristics, least of which didn't include viewing Shampoo. I stroked his hair, felt the tension as he tried to both pull away from and lean into my touch.

At times it was hard to remember that this caustic, pop-culture-referencing wizard was not up to date. There was a drive-in he favored, and a few stores still with televisions in the display windows. Print might not be dead, but the discourse had migrated to other media.

It felt good, John's hand felt comforting. Much of the height I have on him is in my legs, so sitting, the difference wasn't so noticeable. I slid closer to him. Sex of itself wouldn't sustain this, though I had no belief the binding wouldn't hold without something more. It just would make it less, would make it lesser. He smelled good.

Mister stood and walked onto John's legs, circling before settling facing me. He did his impression of an outboard motor, a little louder than usual. I did wonder a little with which hand John would reach for a knife if something was so suicidal as to attack.

After some time together on my couch he called down to have a lunch prepared for me to take to my office. Gave me a kiss. I think he had to dress for business.

I stayed at the office a little later than my usual, trying to shake down my self-satisfied customers who thought forgetting the wizard who'd solved their cases was wise. Two of them convinced me that their payday was Friday. What? I'd had to do that to too many people myself, and it wasn't like Mouse would go hungry now.

I gave up as I realized normal people would be having supper. I took the now-empty picnic basket down and put it in the front trunk of my Beetle. I pulled out to Pizza Spress. The pies were ready when I got there and I headed over to the Alphas. I'd been putting it off long enough.

Sometimes I still think of them as kids. I forget that they are growing up; maybe it's willful since they are faster at it than me.

"Harry!" Georgia pulled me into the apartment. I couldn't quite make out who pulled the boxes out of my hands.

"What happened to your apartment?"

"I moved."

"Moved?" I let the pack move me to the gaming table and let them press a few slices of pizza at me on a paper plate. My character sheet came out in its protector sleeve. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It was a little sudden. Nothing wrong." I hadn't forgotten the time Billy had run me to ground at my office. I'd been around more than that. They accepted me at my word. Game was fun.

"Where did you move to?"

I wasn't dense enough to miss, okay, so I just noticed there was something about how it was said, that meant what was being said wasn't the only message.

"Um."

"Harry, you aren't living in your office."

"No. No, I'm not." I sat back down, figuring if they were going to make like inquisitors I could be comfortable. Until I answered. "I'm. I. Notveryfarfromyourparents, Georgia." They're smart kids, so it didn't take long for them to figure out.

"Marcone's estate?!"

"Yeah." It wasn't like I was going to be anybody else's poolboy. They didn't ask any weird questions, for which I am most glad because I'm a horrible liar but I might feel required to try. I think they did assess if I was being held against my will, but I think I passed. They reminded me not to be a stranger.

That might be difficult since sometimes I hardly recognized myself. I practiced my ability to spot a tail on the way back. Wasn't exactly fair, but then Cujo had changed cars. Good thing I noticed his hair. I pulled near the garage and pocketed the keys. I went inside.

Mafia bosses don't keep regular hours. At least not the same hours as other people. I could go work on a potion, but for me to sit tailor-style wasn't really a great end to an evening. Still no tables. Had to do something about that. I got changed for bed. Noticed my bed had different sheets than it had this morning. I slung on the robe, not Marcone-scented, and went to the tiger's lair.

***

Hendricks didn't give me running status reports as long as Harry was not engaged in serious property damage or other peril. I'd gotten a text when he got to his office and another once he was back home. I'd not thought of the estate that way before. Home base, yes. It had started as a prop, and acquired various purposes over time. I would have to mirror Harry's wardrobe at the alternate locations.

I headed for my dressing room, shedding the day's suit. It had been one of those days, old-school. I would likely have to kill at least one of the opposite's number. Possibly more depending how they reacted when I took Harry to a charity dinner or ball. I stepped into my room to divest myself of some of my weaponry.

Someone was sleeping in my bed. Harry was just a shock of dark hair on the pillow. I finished stripping and joined him. It was pleasantly warm between the sheets. Harry shifted back and I slid my arm over his waist.

***

Snug. I'm not the soundest of sleepers under good conditions; guess it's fortunate those have been rare. I was warm, an arm draped over me, breath against my neck. Odd being the small spoon, but comfortable. Snug.

It wasn't all the bond. People aren't wired to be alone, and one could say that I've got skin debt. Tall, dark, skinny men aren't the sort people pass out hugs to, even when they can meet people's eyes. Add that to various other factors, and I'm not touched much barring lunatics trying to kill me.

I let my mind drift, hoping to slip back to sleep. Protective. Possessive. Valued. It wasn't all the bond. I'm a wizard, and I've saved Chicago a few times. The anchor pulled me back to slumber.

***

I woke before Harry. Last night I'd not considered what he was wearing as pajamas. I hadn't had such things purchased for him, though apparently I should correct that. It might keep him from wearing a long-sleeved tee and jogging pants to bed. I mulled that and him sleeping in my bed while I used the bathroom and brushed my teeth.

He was scrambling out of bed when I returned. I sat. He gave me a look, then went into the bathroom. He even returned instead of slipping into the hall. I quirked my lips as I caught him looking me over. I doubt he noticed doing it, just as he hadn't noticed for years the way he responded not just to women. He cast his eyes down, and then back up to mine. "Please, sit." I kissed him.

He kissed me. Not the deep hungry kisses, which he is very good at, but a lingering exploration. I felt awkward about being dressed with him naked. He pulled back, and my mouth felt different. Strange. I'm not good at this. I stood, "I'm going to have breakfast. Join me?" I left, scooping up the robe.

He came down dressed a surprisingly short time later. Clearly he had showered, and yet there was no evidence for it, totally circumstantial, not a hint of damp collar or a hair out of place. I wanted to rumple him. I wondered if it was opposite numbers or little employees today; could be both, suits were for either while his fancy casuals meant a day of upper-order subordinates. I figured Hendricks could flowchart it. 

The start of my breakfast was brought out, and John was asked if he wanted his usual, which he assented to. "What?" I looked up from my plate.

He had to have a tapeworm; it wasn't a pleasant image, but it wasn't possible he was eating that much food by himself, he'd hardly lost his gaunt build. I supposed his magic might be the culprit. That or he was nearly seven feet of hummingbird. That was ridiculous but more palatable than my first surmise. He had the temperament.

My own breakfast arrived in short order. Grapefruit, fish, fried tomatoes, toasted muffin. I tucked into it efficiently. Harry tore through his food as was his wont, though perhaps a bit slower than I've seen. I noted generalities about his tastes and ignored the rest. I was pleased he would eat my kitchen's food. 

"That all you're having?" It had come on multiple plates, yeah. Segmented grapefruit took up space fanned out as art. I noticed that sort of thing, food as ritual.

"You'd be amazed how much eating there is in business." He punctuated the statement by a napkin applied to his mouth. "I must take my leave." He stood, and I noticed the brief hesitation before he left. Marcone didn't falter like that.

I nodded, my mouth full. This morning had changed something. Or, this morning reflected the change. Now that he was gone, the reflection of him all around me, I considered matters. There was the bond. It trumped, apparently, my qualms about Marcone. I knew what he was, what he did. I also knew that there were worse things in Chicago, or would be if not for John. He protected his own, and he also policed them, culling those that overstepped his rules.

I was tired. It was funny that I only noticed that now, now that I wasn't hungry, cold and hurt. Wasn't totally alone, that I could acknowledge that it had worn me down. I had over the years called upon Marcone to solve problems when my resources were insufficient. I'd signed for him seeking the Barony, to gain succor for the forgotten practitioners. Apparently I no longer was up to fighting the same for myself.

It was different; I had power. I could fight the bumps in the night, things worse than the bumps. Many things no longer challenged me, my mere presence encouraged them to leave. I'd had to widen my wanderings in Chicago, lest Nimby prey in corners I'd forgotten.

Last night I'd openly gone to John's bed. I... I was disappointed. I didn't understand him, and it made me feel dumb. I was dumb--I wasn't so delusional not to grasp that simple fact. Dumb kept me and Murphy from working--the not-work sort of working. Yeah.

I wanted. I'd wanted before, but it was like the rest, when dearth was all I knew, it wasn't quite so expansive. So specific, explicit. I wanted John. I wanted him to-- I was done with breakfast. Mostly. I cleaned my plates. Not that dumb.

Got dressed, found Mouse and went to play throw. I needed to figure this out before heading for the office. I smelled a bit like John, even in fresh clothes. Why hadn't he? I was there, in his bed. It had been nice. It could have been nicer, sweatier.

Control. That probably was it. I thought of the vision of him from Amanda's shooting, the image of him that would never fade, that was filtered through Helen Beckett. He hadn't been controlled then. He'd looked so young in leather and unruly hair. They say people don't really go grey from fright.

They also say there aren't vampires or fairies. Not fear. I was a little concerned that Marcone had less than the requisite amount of fear, though his control wouldn't show any, regardless. Responsibility? I'd done some research about those three years, off and on.

I wonder if running across train tops shooting at Fallen let his inner punk slip free. If coming through the Nevernever with half an army, guns blazing, made him alive. Maybe it just turned me on. The Baron had both more call to such excesses and reasons to refrain from foolhardy action. I could be such a bitch.

I let the game of throw turn into a run. Introspection wasn't my gig.

***

My day was full enough that I couldn't spare much thought to Harry. Business came first. Now I was done for the moment; the Outfit wasn't nine to five, and really neither was any other business. I had phone conferences on Tokyo's schedule later.

He'd come to my bed. That he'd come to my bed dressed didn't change that he had come to my bed. Finding him there, I'd had to remind myself that restraint was required. I was dissatisfied that only the aftermath of his work put him in the mood. He had come to my bed. I would hold on to that. It was more than I'd had.

I got out of my car and entered the mansion. Harry hadn't eaten dinner yet as of my conversation with Hendricks. I would have to broach the subject of rotating living quarters; by now my enemies would cease being freaked out by my change of behavior of not changing behavior, and start making plans.

Harry was petulant. I responded to it, though the tailoring of my pants and jacket masked the reaction. It wasn't natural for him to be compliant, which all considered he'd been to a heightened degree. "Thank you for joining me at dinner."

"You had the kitchen shut down."

I hadn't, and in fact I'd had them instructed to hold him with antipasto should he come down for dinner. It'd take time for him to actually spoil his appetite. I kissed him as I passed into the dining room. He is surprised by the simplest things.

He lit the candles. Harry has studded his magic with jokes, old ad campaigns. It doesn't make it any less amazing when scores of flames suddenly exist in the dark. I waited to sit until he was by his chair. I allowed a flicker of a smile. He wasn't sure whether to be discomfited. He's much smarter when he thinks; when he thinks, dinosaurs roam Chicago streets. One. Once. I'd made some donations to the Field Museum after that incident. I'd gone over the reports of property damage, piecing together that night from cars and façades. He'd learned fast how to, anticipate, and choose paths on the fly.

"What?" John's expression was, odd. To someone else it might not seem to be an expression, he managed to present a bland competence worthy of a comic book, that went with his paternal football coach look, attractive like a sitcom dad.

I thought of sex. He fucked like the punk he'd been, wild and animal, not sanitized and packaged. I was missing something, I could feel a gap. I wanted him. I liked besting his façade, seeing behind that so-perfect mask. It was like channeling a storm.

Dinner was delicious, though I did notice that I was eating easily twice the food as John, the kitchen getting more on my plates and arranging things on John's to not appear skimpy. Might be skin hunger wasn't the only debt I'd been running.

"I've got a meeting later, what are your plans?" I stood.

"How much later?"

"Enough."

"Oh." Harry was conflicted, something I'd noticed about him over the years; he was never certain about his appetites. I pulled him close so he could fight just one side, should he choose to. He relaxed around me, leaning his cheek against my hair. There was so much of him, that I wanted to protect, that I wanted to channel, that I wanted to temper and unleash in turn.

I didn't want to take him to bed. More precisely, I didn't want to take him to bed just now. Sex wasn't enough, I wanted all of Harry while I cherished his spirit and free will. The very choices his godmother had swept aside with her--spell, curse, did it matter?

I'd never have had him willingly. The best I could do was not to add to the chains that bound him to me. Provide his needs in a manner he would accept. I wanted, there was so much I wanted forever out of my reach.

I had asked Ms. Gard subtle questions to determine the possible reasons for Harry's godmother to do this to him. As a semi-divine being she had a better chance than mortals to understand the motivations of one of the Fae. I'd picked up that only his mother's pledge and his own ill-considered bargain left him open to Leanansidhe's workings. 

It wasn't that Harry and I had nothing in common, just the less he knew about daily operations the happier he'd be. So much of what I worked on daily were in formats that couldn't coexist with Dresden's magic, and much the same was true of my leisure pursuits. Read or clean guns were about all that was compatible. I couldn't believe he could hex an automatic; I knew it, I'd seen it, belief was something else. I'd had to take out a few people when they mistook mandatory revolver competency for early-onset senility.

"Did you have plans?"

It wasn't a question I was expecting. He was still wrapped around me, possessive and... Not gentle, firm and careful, maybe like you'd hold a cherished landmine. Not china, I wasn't china. It felt good, it felt good. I didn't want to answer. I wanted to stay here. My hands roamed his back, felt muscles intended for action, for use, though clearly maintained in a gym. "I can reschedule." John looked up at me, money-green eyes unbelieving, questioning. Then he laughed. Mob bosses didn't giggle and it was too deep even if they did. It thrummed into me, and I wanted to make it happen frequently. "Chuckle" wasn't right either.

He stepped away and pulled me by the wrist then hand before I could complain. Sat me onto a couch and flowed down beside me. I smiled figuring there was a lot of sitting in our future. He kissed me.

I surprised him. Harry sprawled back and I took the opportunity to kiss his throat bared. I impossibly wanted to give him every good thing he'd missed. Ms. Rodriguez was the only known lover, though I doubted she'd been the first. Hoped, perhaps. He lolled with my attentions, hands currying over my shoulders and back.

I blinked. John had rolled, pulling me with him, he leaning against the couch and me over him. Who was this? This wasn't the feral single-mindedness. I touched him while I thought. Marcone pulled out weapons before I reached them.

I. It wasn't arousing. What was I doing? I was married to the mob. I, I went back to exploring him, noting where weapons came from. His tailor hid a lot. John was the most lethal of the weapons his suits covered. I wondered how he managed when in his bespoke casual clothes. I'd find out. It, I, something to look forward to.

"Harry?"

I smiled against his neck, his hand cupped over the back of my head. Perhaps confusing the most dangerous man in Chicago shouldn't satisfy me so, but it was so. It was cute. I'm a little cracked. He might be too, since he didn't halt for long.

This was easy. I wasn't inexperienced, per se, Elaine and Susan had both been satisfied. Different; this wasn't the same. I didn't have anywhere to put this. I loved them. Marcone and I were complicated. I liked this, this easy exploration.

"What?"

I disengaged from Harry. "My watch." I'd had to find watches that didn't have any circuits buried in them. A dial wasn't a foolproof measure. This particular one had chimes that could be set, purely a matter of springs and gears. Vital when I was away from my Blackberry. "It's later, now."

It took him time to put it together, and I righted myself, replacing some of my knives. "It's going to be a long meeting." I retreated. 

He wasn't in my bed when I finally made it there. It was too late to expect him to be awake unless he was working on something. I got undressed and slipped into bed. The sheets still bore traces of Harry's scent. I had ordered him sleepwear. My pied-à-terre had but the one bedroom.

***

I wondered if Hendricks normally slept at the mansion; he had no trouble tailing me (I saw him because he wanted me to, I know that) despite my early departure. I wanted too much. I'd thought--yeah, clearly after dinner wasn't as promising as it had appeared. John never came by after his call.

My day was interestingly busy. Two of the cases I didn't bill; the first because I didn't do anything that a responsible nine-year old couldn't have done. A tall nine-year old. The second, well, I realized she was Silver's grandmother. Had pictures of him as a boy up to the man throughout her tiny apartment. While I was working her case no fewer than three guys from the Outfit showed up, each managing to piecemeal restock her kitchen under cover of getting fed. Really. I saw one get a five-pound bag of flour into her storage jar (taken from the drainboard and dried with a towel from the drawer) and a dozen eggs into the fridge.

I accepted a piece of pie as payment. As I think about it, I think one of the Executive Priority girls stopped by--she was wearing more clothes. It wasn't a big case, though it took awhile. Zombie chihuahuas. Okay, and one furry wiener dog. I like pie.

Back at the office I picked up one case that I was able to phone in after just a little work, and two more that I got scheduled for appointments tomorrow. Most of my cases were small things; it's just when they aren't they really aren't.

Cujo slipped a piece of paper under my door. That was strange. I got up and took a look at it. An address. The phone rang. I picked it up.

"When you leave, that's where." That's all he said before hanging up. I got out my trusty map of Chicago since Google and I didn't get along. I know Chicago pretty well, but sometimes it's just better to know exactly where the address refers to. It was a funny address; I suspected its neighborhood was less impressive than its view.

I did a bit more about the office then packed it in. I was intrigued. When I got there I parked best as I could, reasonably sure that if more secrecy was needed some 'valet' would move the Blue Beetle. As I'd thought, the building was one that had before been a warehouse, now located such that it stored businesses and lofts for people who favored exposed brick and possessive views of Chicago's skyline.

There was a doorman, not one in a fancy faux military uniform, but doorman he was, and he knew me on sight and directed me to an old freight elevator. No remote operation. I wondered just how long John had owned this building.

One of the things about magic is that older technology is more dependable than new. These cables and brakes had years of behaving properly, and barring my active use of spells would fulfill their duties. Guess it was good some vanilla mortals thought historical slumming was piquant; the doorman probably spent part of his day returning the elevator to the ground level. Stopping the car level with the floor took some finesse.

I rapped the door with "shave and a haircut." John answered the door. This wasn't what I was expecting. It looked like Kubrick's set designers had been unleashed. The windows were as I'd thought, Chicago laid out like framed art. I hung up my coat near the door. An inky stain upon the wall.

I looked at John again. "Dress-down day?" He looked, he didn't look like a sitcom dad or a college coach. These weren't the fancy casuals he lorded over his upper underlings in. I, I liked John like this, a regular Joe. We were both out of place.

I should have expected this, that Harry would like my incognito clothes. Actually, I had worse--there is oversight that's best done in person, on the sly. "In a way. I doubt it surprises you that the mansion isn't a full-time residence." Okay, I overestimated Harry. "A moving target is harder to hit."

"You're the pea under the shell."

I grinned. "Skirt the kitchen if you would, I've got everything else off except for the lights."

I heard him snooping. I took it as a good sign, Harry was not naturally complacent. I expected he understood that here there were no loose ends of Outfit business, and thus he wasn't going to learn things he'd rather not.

I wanted Dresden sharp, hard and fiery. I liked him pushing back, there were few enough willing and able to rebuke me. I have had to act when he chose too public of forums, though those have worked for me, protecting him through the uncertainty over whether he was ally or enemy.

I wanted him freely given. I would have to reframe success. Somehow Harry had accepted that while he didn't condone the Outfit's business, it did business at a more acceptable price  
than the alternatives. That crime paid for elite mercenaries, he couldn't doubt. Very dark grays shaded his outlook.

I plated up food and stepped out of the galley. "You found the emergency candles."

"You're such a boy scout."

I took the food from him. "This looks good." I can't cook much, though I have gotten better with the wood stove. Had. I set the plates down on the spread-out nesting tables. I wasn't sitting on that white couch. I was missing something, though what still escaped me. This place had but the one bedroom, though that was grandiose for what was a bit more than a berth. There were pajamas on the foot of the bed. He wanted me here.

He sat completely too easily, while I folded like a crane, all knees and elbows. The food was good. Really good. I looked up and he was grinning. I'm not a fourteen-year-old girl. Maybe he should have baked me cookies when he wanted me to lay off Tommy Tom's murder. I chuckled at the notion.

"Something funny?"

"Wizards and armies." I saw him catch on and he let it slide. It'd come back up, when I least expected it. I'd come to, I suppose it's true that anything will grow on you. "You might pass for a pea, but I won't." We'd never form a threshold this way. I still didn't know who could grant permission to enter the well-tended garden.

It was tempting, but I bit it back. I didn't plan on any intervening mattresses tonight. I filed the thought to cheer me through some future dreary meeting. Dresden required my full attention. "True enough, especially as our deepened relationship becomes known."

Harry didn't blanch, but that was more thanks to his complexion than any intent. I dropped a hand over his. "This isn't a secret I'm handing over to anyone. I figure it better to reveal it at someone else's event. Mortal event; do you have thoughts for the Accorded?

"You didn't ask Gard?"

"I inquired, but you're the one I'm bonded to."

"They'll know, but we'll need to project a unified front."

"Best to do that all around." He nodded and I released his hand. He stroked my wrist with a finger before picking up his fork. "You'll need a fitting with a tailor."

"No."

Interesting how vehemence and importance don't track for Harry. "Yes. Eveningwear cannot be guesstimated and you are now my other half. I will be judged according to your attire." I could see his ire building. "And, I'm very interested in just how well you clean up."

"Oh."

I hoped I'd live long enough to banish his surprise about being wanted. I almost prayed that Harry would survive that long. I doubted the efficacy of my pleas, more so after the Shroud than even before. "Done?" I took his plate and headed into the kitchen. Leftovers made good breakfasts.

He'd disappeared when I returned. Bedroom. He'd gone into the shower actually, and while I considered joining him, I instead sat on the bed.

Harry wore the pajamas and had shaved. "You clean up well."

I kissed him. I clawed at his clothes as I leaned over him. I needed, wanted, I would have him. John's hands slid over the buttery cloth. "You can do better than that." He did, his hands were on my skin and I pressed against him. "Please." I couldn't get him naked fast enough. "Now." Fuck me. "Do it."

"Your turn. Do me."

I watched him strip and reach into the bedside drawer. I found some spit, "Really?"

"It's been a long time." He pressed a tube into my hand.

It shouldn't have surprised me, he'd made it good, and gave head... It didn't fit. I just couldn't "How long?"

"Use the lube. Start with one finger." He flipped over, turning his back to me. I wanted to see his eyes. I popped the lid and squeezed. Cold. That wasn't going to work. I picked a spot and pooled some there, mixing the puddle as it warmed. I, I was so insanely hard, I had to prepare him.

Harry could fuck me senseless on his fingers. I knelt up, growled at him to get on with it. He did, shoved into me sweeter than a high-speed merge. He drove single-mindedly, and that was fine, more than fine. Later. Finesse later. Now! Now, now, now.

I only noticed I'd passed out as I felt Harry's chin digging in between my shoulderblades. I straightened my legs and he started to move. I pressed a hand to the small of his back. "Not so fast." He moved the rest of himself around me. Gave "sprawl" a new meaning.

"John?" He started to subside and I pulled away, got up and headed for the bathroom. Cleaned up, I came back with a washrag and did the best with Harry. I kissed him, tossed the cloth towards the bathroom and crawled back over him. He fell asleep kneading my ass.

***

"Hell's bells!" I spread my legs further and the sensation--more. It was just more. And then it was more more. I scrambled. "You're laughing." I pulled up my legs and twisted. Tongues didn't go there.

"Wasn't the reaction I was expecting."

"Why?" What would possess him to do that?

"You didn't like that."

John wasn't dejected. His matter of fact tone was itself a tell. "No, I did." It was different than fingertips.

"Then?" He sounded confused, honestly confused.

"Shower." It was big enough for both of us with room to spare. Glorious hot water rained down from heads bigger than sunflower disks.

"Harry?" I looked down following his gaze, my hand soaping my cock and balls.

"What?"

I reached for him and he quickly firmed. Okay, so rimming him hadn't shut him down. I ran a soapy finger along his crease. "You think you shouldn't like it, but you do."

"Doesn't matter."

"Okay." I slid behind him, cupping his testicles in my palm. "What do you want?"

"Good, that's good."

"Show me."

"What?"

I turned off the water once we were both rinsed. I toweled off Harry and myself, applying my mouth south of his chin. I stepped away and back into the bedroom, stripping the sheets and remaking it. I sat, taking myself in hand. I looked at Harry watching, his hands hanging away from his body. "Take a seat."

Harry sat to the right of me, hands on my shoulders. I looked over and down. "You should handle that." He started to fold up and I took him in hand. "Is this ok?"

"Um, yeah." He reached for me, wrapping his palm around. His hands are very large, and singularly untutored. It blindsided me. I gave him a good grip, then wrapped my arm around him before taking him back in hand. He mimicked me, and I changed my speed and pressure.

"Tell me what you like best."

This was nuts. We were groping each other when we could be doing anything. It was, it was good, John's eyes shined the thinnest green thread. I latched my mouth over his, signaling what I wanted on him before switching to what he seemed to prefer. He got it, I didn't have to tell him, not in words.

Close. So close. I unhanded him.

"Harry?"

I pulled him down on top of me. I thrust up, held on tight, came like a freight train. John followed like an express.

I lifted up slightly one-handed, stroked his cheek balanced on my forearm. I'd have to show him a dental dam, let him decide outside of the moment if I could rim him . Harry was so parochial about sex. I felt his mouth on my forehead. I let myself drop into sleep.

***

I hadn't thought John ate leftovers, though I wasn't sure cooking something into something else was the same thing. "It's lonely."

John looked at me.

"I don't, because it's lonely. That's all." There were times I'd thought about it, touched myself a little. It was worse. After Susan, well, Susan had been after Susan. My godmother should have left alone, it wasn't like I was all that old in wizard terms. Except...

I wasn't lonely. I kissed him and left for my office. I wasn't alone.

Reminding myself of that was small comfort when the tailor descended on me. He didn't look like a tailor, though honestly he was better-dressed than my usual client. I suppose the tape measure around the neck is more low-market. Or casual. Whatever. I don't normally expect kneeling in my office.

I did notice when he was done and left there was nothing sticking to his knees. I wasn't sure if that was brownies or if John had cleaner ninjas. I know, it sounds funny. Doesn't mean it couldn't happen; I've been nearly killed in very painful ways by more ridiculous things.

Fortunately nothing of the sort happened; nice boring day, three sets of car keys successfully found and one case of twins. Two cases of twins? Case of twin twins? So I was a little more concerned with getting back to John. Even though I didn't have a way of knowing he'd be there when I arrived. So, I'm a man and thinking with a dick isn't the best ratiocination ever. My day was over.

The bowl of fruit and plate of cheeses would have offended the interior designer, introducing Technicolor to their Hoth. I grabbed an apple figuring even I could manage not to stain the couch. What I didn't expect was John appearing with a pizza. He took it into the kitchen, then came back out with plates, glasses and a bottle of wine. And flatware.

Deep dish. I started to move.

"Don't." It had been amusing yesterday, but I didn't as a rule want Harry on the floor. I wanted him sitting next to me. I set things down on the table and settled beside Harry. "Good day?"

"Other than the tailor."

I kissed him. He pulled me to him; I'm good at improvisation. I pulled back when his stomach rumbled. "One appetite at a time." I poured the wine.

Harry ate. He looked to consider speaking and then deciding against it. I both wanted to know, and to allow him that much privacy.

"Think I'm a cheap date?" John lowered the wine bottle back to the table. He didn't banter back. I drank from my glass. "What?"

It was in poor taste, but I had nowhere to stand. Harry thought, as he so often does, that he was joking.

"John?"

"I'll let you top off your glass yourself." I sipped from my own, then addressed my dinner. It had lost its savor but I hid it well. I had practice.

I resisted asking what just went wrong. I suspected it would just compound a problem I didn't understand, saying that I did grasp the explanation. I'm shallow, I wanted to get back on track with John getting into my pants. I was surprised that had gotten off the rails; shouldn't this be easier?

"The pizza is good." I figured a simple sentence was a start.

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it."

Hell's Bells. I got up and stalked off to the berth, stripping once I was out of Chicago's view. I put on my pajamas and came back out. I was still hungry. Contrary, I sat on the floor and reached over for my plate. I should have thought to bring some Coke ho--here. Back.

Clearly not enough practice for Dresden. I couldn't fault him for finding me poor company, though I didn't know how to interpret his clothing change. I liked his bare feet. They were both intimate and safe. "Thank you, about the tailor." He smiled, a little guarded. I took a chance and eased off the couch to sit beside him. The last of my slice tasted good again.

We didn't get the train rolling again that night, and turned in rather early. The berth was snug, though easier shared than my bed. However, tomorrow night I'd return to the mansion. I had magic to work on, and I couldn't here. Maybe...

I liked having company in bed. I think John does too. I hadn't expected, hadn't considered-- wasn't sure why he hadn't done me again. He knew this apartment had only the one bed. Maybe at the mansion I would just assume that we'd sleep together, go to his bed when I'm ready to turn in.

Maybe he didn't mind sudden marriage. Not even to me.

***

I wasn't surprised that Harry had gone to the mansion; Hendricks had reported in. I would deal with the apartment, insofar that it needed dealing after my morning routine, tomorrow. I was surprised to find him in my bed. I hadn't ordered just the one set of pajamas, and had the others delivered with the rest of his clean laundry. I prepared for bed and slipped in beside him.

Sleep didn't find me easily, an unusual situation for me. It this night gave me opportunity to observe Harry. He sprawls across width, and my glimpse of his apartment's bed suggested he would have entirely covered the surface. Here, there remained room for me. Harry being Harry he spread and inched over to my side. I hardly noticed, he was moving slowly and I wasn't too vigilant, still trying to fall asleep, but he pooled along me, a hand, a foot, an arm, a leg over me. The heat made me muzzy and I drifted off finally.

I sought what woke me, then registered that John was intwined with me. It was nice. I closed my eyes. Sleeping with someone was better than sleeping alone. I was exhausted with being alone. I went back to sleep, wrapping just a bit more around him.

"Hhu?" I'm not verbal first thing in the morning, and John gets up too early. He goes to bed too late, so I don't know how he gets through his day. Maybe he sleeps in meetings or the car? He was shifting my limbs, decanting himself from the bed. I opened my eyes. He wasn't nude; from the waistband up, yes, but he was wearing yoga pants?

"Go back to sleep." He even pushed his pillow down to my arms. It wasn't as firm as him, but sleepy I'm not very picky. I rolled over and sprawled to the other side, pillow brought with me.

I don't know how much more I slept, since I wasn't aware of the time at John's departure. I put his pillow back in its spot, and sorta straightened the bed. I dressed for Mouse's game of throw, had some breakfast before going out with him. Afterwards I showered and headed for my office.

Disappointment, I was disappointed not to find Harry in my bed. I couldn't expect him there, and yet returning to the mansion seemed empty without him waiting there, even asleep. I stripped for bed and turned in. Fortunately I fell asleep quickly.

I awoke not so alone. "Harry."

"Go back to sleep." He petted the back of my neck, that was the only verb for it, and I did as asked. I didn't ask myself why he was there, or consider what besides sleep we could do. Ignoring such questions allowed me to disregard how we had gotten here. There were enough hours in the day for such reflection, but not enough minutes wrapped in Chicago's Wizard. I wasn't going to suffer the one to seep into the other.

***

Beard burn was a risk. I was alert, animally aware of my environment and the more immediate contents of my bed. I licked Harry's prickly Adam's apple, he bucking against me. He clamped a hand over my hip.

"Inside me."

His hand, his other hand, was very persuasive; both were eloquent, though speaking at cross-purposes. I reached out for the bedside drawer, and then there was slick in my hand. I pulled him over me, gasped-- I squirted a puddle into the shallow of his back, drawing a line down his crack, fingering his hole. I retraced and brought more and more lube between his cheeks. I eased my finger in. Twisted, crooked, pulled out and pressed back in reslicked.

He clutched my ass in both hands. I added another finger.

"GREAT--" He rose up and bore down. I scissored my fingers slowly and closed my thumb and index around his root.

"In, Now!"

I pulled my fingers free and slicked up my cock, easing him back, against my head. He sank faster than I anticipated. I let him go, controlling myself my sole focus. I thrust into him, pulled him down, anchored myself. Harry tried to roll, and I steadied him, kissed him. I held out just barely, as he spurted his completion and sank against my chest. I followed him quickly. 

I hadn't thought, I'd thought-- I gave up thinking and just felt, arms wrapped around Harry. This wasn't practical, Harry is heavy despite his thinness. There was also clean up, yet I continued to lie there under him. I eased him to the mattress belly down and went into my bathroom. Hot water, I cleaned up and took out a nicely hot washcloth to do the same for Harry. Nothing like, he was sleepy, content, I wanted to kiss the small of his back. I dismissed stroking his hair and watching him as self-indulgent and lay down. I fell asleep to the sex scent of him and the heat he radiates.

***

I'm not sure that I woke to the smell of coffee; I expect it was that on waking it was the coffee I noticed first. John's bedroom really is an apartment onto itself, and the food waited on a table. The roses in the Turkish teaglass meant John had left; he'd improvised, I could imagine him pulling them out of one of the arrangements last moment.

I padded into the bathroom first then pulled on some clothes, sat and started eating. So, yes, I could feel what we'd been doing last night, rather like a bike ride provides reminders the next day. Considering the aches I sometimes wake up with, a few toe curls and goofy smiles were more than acceptable.

Setting the glass with its roses aside after I finished, I took the tray down and then went back to my room, showered and dressed for my day. I didn't have much scheduled, just what I thought to be a problem with some brownies, not the little Girl Scouts but the other kind. Other than chocolate too. I drove out to the client's home.

***

I looked at the invitation that had so clearly been mailed after the RSVP date. This hostess took an unholy glee at these sorts of snubs, and after a quick call to the tailor to make sure Harry's first set of eveningwear would be ready with expedited service, I called to make the obligatory niceties with the woman's social secretary. Her demeanor was perfectly professional, and I made note for Human Resources to lure her away. My other bit of "revenge" would be to use this occasion to make public Harry's and my relationship.

Extortion is one of my trades, and this was the very model of a secret too big to try keeping. I wasn't looking forward to the questioning of Harry that the FBI was likely to conduct, given DOMA. There was a lawyer on retainer to pull him out. The rest was presenting a solid shameless stance; possibly killing a few rivals for their reactionary views.

Business as usual. I turned back to other matters.

***

"I need a haircut." I had left messages for my brother, to let him know I was okay, just had moved. Since I was leaving them with one of his employees, who thought I was an ex-lover, he wouldn't expect much detail. I took it as given he knew something was up, by the fact I always called when he wouldn't be there. This time I was calling when even his employees weren't.

White Court vampires know devious. I'm not great shakes, but then I'm just a thug wizard. A wizard going to a ball with Gentleman Johnny Marcone, thus the needed haircut. I figured Hendricks, and by extension John, wouldn't get too heated by this particular venue; John might even consider it a positive sign. I hoped.

I don't know whether he believed the ruse or not, what he may have read from my body. It had been a ploy to deal with my brother's Gold Coast apartment that I'd sort of broken into with the key he'd given me.

I could check in with my answering service after I did some footwork on my current case. So, I was avoiding my brother in addition to not bringing him to Marcone's attention. He's not the subtlest when it comes to sex (thus the red ribbon Bob adores, for having been Justine's sole decoration when she graced my apartment) and I was getting all of that I could handle from Bob. Who I was also avoiding. I suppose I should break down and get a table for my laboratory. I often can distract him with making potions, but that's easier without folding myself on the floor.

***

I had avoided making moves on real estate within Harry's neighborhood because he would have taken it as an assault. The area needed development, it needed foot patrols and it needed a grocery store. I'd bought the abandoned properties and the more ramshackle businesses, three apartment buildings. I met with the various old women, individually. They wanted a bank branch. I turned one of the apartment buildings into a co-op; enough of the tenants were long-term and home-proud.

It wouldn't be recreated overnight. I was but building a framework, it would only be successful when others filled in. A nice residential neighborhood with some offices and shops. I paid Harry's rent for a full year. Or, I tried to; she couldn't accept it as a lump sum. So, I instead secured her an excellent contractor and arranged purchase orders equal to Harry's rent, for her repairs and improvements.

It wasn't altruism that motivated me. A blighted neighborhood, one in the process of decaying out of being a neighborhood, was a breeding ground for disorganized criminality. Competition was not to be permitted in Chicago, where it could be prevented. Disintegrating neighborhoods also encouraged real estate speculators.

***

"Harry!" My brother put on a big show for his clients and employees and hustled me back to his station. He's the good-looking one. In addition to his demon-fueled strength he has muscles, and always exudes a nonchalant-on-purpose vibe; me I look like a crazed scarecrow that's slept in the wrong field. On a good day.

Bad days people are too busy surviving to care what I look like. He put up a cone of silence. Sort of, an actual one would be rather obvious and that wouldn't do for the White Court, but I like the name.

"Something you want to tell me?"

"Bells." He knew. I didn't know how extensive his skinny was. "She cast a binding spell on me. Marcone got caught in it."

"A binding spell. And he just got caught in it."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment sort of thing." He really should be careful where he aimed that eyebrow. It was loaded. I buckled. "I was sort of dying." What had Marcone been doing in my apartment? I hadn't really thought about that. My door had been open. Where else would he be?

Thomas washed and cut my hair, doing his little routine. I didn't look at myself in the mirror. I trusted his professional pride, and that he knew that John would be seeing me. I didn't expect the first would allow him to use me as a pawn regarding the later.

I had dinner with Marcone that night. That was unexpected, but nice. I wasn't sure if he was concerned about Thomas or not. I didn't put away quite as much food as I had been, so maybe I was mostly caught up. Maybe I was hoping we'd be busy afterwards.

"Harry?"

"Let's go to bed." What is it about eyebrows? Okay, so it was blunt but that's who I am.

It wasn't that I disagreed with the sentiment, I was in favor of being bedded by and bedding Harry. I wanted more, not that this time I even knew what that meant. There was also an off note to Harry's request. I wanted to know why he'd formed an alliance with a White Court Vampire. "Dominoes first?"

Had he tired of me so soon? Dominoes, not the political kind, was fairly unexpected, and made me curious. "Sure." He stepped into and out of my space quickly. I followed him, and watched him move a table between two armchairs. He pulled out a leather box.

"Are those ivory?"

"Is that a problem? They're antiques."

I didn't forget that somewhere he had, or had had, a Monet and a Van Gogh looted during WWII. I supposed that I couldn't quibble too much about this, having depleted uranium in a lead box myself. I watched him place them on the table and shuffle, dealing them out. "Scrabble racks?" For the Neimann-Marcus edition. I racked my men. I like John's fingers, the whole hands, but his fingers in particular. I reached for them. He flipped his hand over, inviting my palm into his. I suppose I should have expected double twelves, but still I was a bit confused about not going to bed. His hand was interested in mine.

It was a good game. The dominoes too, not sure who won that. My hand, my melted left hand, had done pretty well too, considering how my right was busy. The whole game. So I was placing tiles down with my left, black glove against ivory while my right was standing in for my body. How did he do that?

He took me to bed. That is, he took me to his bedroom and started taking my clothes off slowly. He has to be the sort that peels the tape away from wrapping paper. I didn't mind because like he'd done to my hand, every bared inch was my whole body and he's obsessive.

I got him stripped, pulled him down onto me. I like his body, like him pressing me down. I like his tongue in my mouth. I like being the canary or the cream. Wasn't there a Tweety Bird short with him paddling in a milk bath? I laughed.

John pulled back, then resumed his ministrations. The thought of him as a tiger version of Sylvester was hilarious. I'm cracked, I know, but was it any less sensical than a mob boss happily tied to me? It snuck up on me, and I was coming my brains out.

He must have too. John slumped over me. I drifted into sleep. Who'd know dangerous men make good blankets?

***

"Ready?" I'd given him a shave before he dressed, and I wanted to order Hendricks to drive somewhere else. Sadly, I'd promised him years ago not to subject him to back-seat antics, and that's exactly what I was considering. It would likely leave the car needing a wrecker.

"If I say no will you take me home and fuck me?"

"No." I so wanted to oblige and goose him. He shouldn't ask things I won't give him but want to.

"Then, yes."

And that was how we outted ourselves. Started. The door was opened and Harry got out, reaching a hand in for me. It amused me, but I circled him to move him to my left. I heard him shake out his shield bracelet, instead of lambasting me. I extended the invitation to the doorman and was nodded inside.

He left me. Okay, so he did stay close for the first little bit, enough to snag glasses and nibbles, chat briefly with either the adventurous or the gossipmongers; I wasn't sure which. Then he noticed someone that he had business dealings with or needed to do business with, and with no more than a "mingle, Harry" he left me.

Now, I am a P.I. So I did the only sensible thing. I looked for an older woman in need of a dance partner. I found one pretty fast, and headed for her.

"May I have this dance?" I belatedly noticed my gloved extended hand. She took it before I could think better and retract my offer, her clasp firm. It didn't hurt like it had at first and the PT had helped. I escorted her onto the floor.

She was a delight. It was as the second dance changed to the third that she commented, "I trust he hasn't been hiding you long."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

"They may pass it off as romantic, but it's not."

I was a little upset when Marcone tapped my partner on her shoulder. Then surprised when she swirled away and John slipped into stance, right in my left, left on my shoulder. I danced first, then my brain fell into step.

"Do you ever do anything by halves?"

"Overachieving." I caught the quirk flirting in the outer corner of his sitcom dad smile.

I did a showy series of turns, that in a movie would have been about the woman's skirt, but in our case would have been a shoe advert if something as pedestrian as a commercial had ever happened for the involved shoes. I settled down for a bit, letting the fact the sky or at least ceiling was still attached and not falling sink in. "Am I boring you?"

"Not at all." Trust Harry to pick as his debut dance partner the single most powerful woman in Chicago. She wasn't the richest, or the most famous, but she was the most connected. Her favor couldn't be bought, only earned. Harry would always find some new way to amaze. It was however true that I had more business to conduct. These events were the best way to avoid being overheard, judges being loathe to issue warrants and reporters of various stripes like ants ready to find parabolic mikes. Harry deposited me just off the dance floor and squired another society matron back on. I watched for a moment and got to task. It was a delicate matter of client and patron, favors exchanged between businessmen. Old blood money seeking new cash.

I begrudged the time spent more than I had in the past. Harry's time was better used dancing with other partners than myself; it would have stung more if it wasn't so clear that he enjoyed this momentary civility.

"You should offer me this dance." I knew a command performance and took her onto the floor. As I've mentioned she is the most powerful woman in Chicago. I expected she had plans where I'd be a lever. "Make sure he knows how lucky you are to have him." She looked over to where he was. "You'll want to rescue him from her."

I was wondering how many shades of red I had gone through, and whether there were any left, when John stopped the insanity. "Thank you." It probably looked salacious to her. I didn't expect such explicit questions from, really anyone, but certainly not someone as old as my landlady. "Is you making like Ginger Rogers going to be a problem?"

"You're taller."

I think that meant he might have to kill someone. It shouldn't mean that, but I suspect if he'd meant something else he'd be less elusive. I found that I, it wasn't I didn't care, it was that I was tired of not being that important. And I probably did think that anyone that John would kill for such a reason deserved what they asked for. My moral compass needed repairs.

I looked around discreetly, trying to figure out who here had a problem with us and was too genteel to disclose the fact, versus those that really were as urbane as they fronted. I couldn't tell. I both wanted to disappear, and I wanted to be in bed with John. I suppose that wasn't strange, the later would be a form of the former. "When can we go home?"

Had it become that? I knew what it was, a compound. It also had a threshold I'd thought required a home just in the grounds. There was a lot I thought I'd known that wasn't quite as I thought. I should contact Listens-to-Wind. Justin and Eb might not be a good sampling of wizarding.

"Give me a few more dances."

"Okay." I liked this. I knew what I was doing, I was acceptable. I could wait that long to kiss John. I was perhaps a little keyed up. I could have shaved myself. I supposed I liked that he wanted to do it for me. He'd take me to bed. I could wait a few more dances, the car ride home. His fingertips brushed my nape. I got a little fancy with our dancing as a distraction.

Then we were leaving. I noticed that when we were in the car. I'm a P.I. 

"Open the door, please." Nathan, reasonably enough, was refusing to open the door lest he get an eyeful. Harry blinked, realization that we'd arrived blooming. It took him a few tries to find the release, and he rather more pulled me from the car than earlier in the night. Nice that I could be such motivation.

He was a little fast with the stripping, not that the effect wasn't affecting. I supposed undressing him slowly would have to be a future pleasure. I knew just how I wanted to channel his pent-up eagerness. I shed my clothes and fell back onto the bed, pulling him with me. "Inside." I kissed him.

I can take instruction. I know, generally I don't. I got out the lube, was distracted for a bit, got it open, got John open. Bells. I almost came slicking myself up. Hot and tight, I eased into him, leaned into his chest while I settled, got some control. His hands played over my back and up my neck, rubbing my head. I started moving slowly.

I lifted, looking at him. He didn't look like a football coach. He was indescribable, I didn't have words for how pleased he looked. I was doing that. I kissed him, wishing I had more hands, one to cup his jaw. It couldn't last and I sped up. He felt so good, and he was hanging onto me. I was doing him right, I could tell, he looked, he looked like the sun itself, radiant.

A Soulgaze is a once-in-a-lifetime event for any two given people. A wizard never forgets what is seen with Sight. I'd Soulgazed Marcone within minutes of being bustled into his car, now years ago. It was happening again. Close, I was so close. It felt like a Soulgaze, it felt like Sight. He loved me.

John came and I will never lose that image of him. He was gorgeous. He loved me. My climax tore through me, dropped me onto him. I was out, able to hear the numbers but not capable to do anything about them.

Later, it had to be later because I felt less sticky, I moved and John moved and that roused me somewhat. I considered if I could get him to sprawl over me. I wanted him to ride me like a bicycle.

He loved me. I hadn't expected that. I'd thought that was beyond me, sacrificed to the bond my godmother arranged. Did I love him? I wanted him, which I hadn't expected. Maybe I'd grown on him.

It hit me then. When we'd Soulgazed the first time, I'd sensed things he held tightly wrapped, secrets he didn't want let out. One of them I'd learned was Amanda, the girl now a young woman whose blood had swayed a killer. John being John he hadn't repented, he redoubled. He couldn't have loved me then. He didn't know me then.

He saw my Soul. It's made people faint and I've never asked what they see. If. This hadn't just happened. Why didn't he say anything? I needed out of here. I slipped out of bed, him encroaching on the spot I left. I could feel him, phantom touches on my skin. Why didn't he tell me?

I went to my room. I grabbed some clothes, thought about grabbing Bob. Where was I going? Neither of my two thoughts were best places for Bob. I hefted my bag and exited, closing the door softly. It was still dark outside. I got into the optimistically-named Blue Beetle and drove.

I picked out Nathan about the same time I decided to head to St. Mary's. Did he sleep? I pulled in, he drove past. I knocked.

I don't need to go into the whole meeting with the good Father, and the less I say the safer people would be; while I was welcome, there really wasn't room for me with everything that was going on. I meandered until it was late enough to be but godly early.

The Carpenters get up very early. It goes with having enough kids to count as a youth organization. I screwed up my gumption and rang the bell. Daniel was the one who answered the door.

"It's Harry!"

I was sucked into the house. Really, I was. I'd missed this while I was busy hiding Lash from Michael. I'd not had a family since my father died, and that had just been the two of us. The younger children swarmed me. Michael came in, took in my bag and sat it down near the stairs. "You know where the guestroom is. Be welcome." My magic slammed back into me, rather akin to the way Mister used to charge me when I'd come home. Michael peeled off several kids, while Daniel grabbed for my bag.

I almost told him not to bother; I looked him not quite in the eye, and nodded at him. A small thing, being a good host in his father's house. Somehow I and Michael were alone. He didn't ask me anything, and it made me sputter within my head. I hadn't wanted to be married to Marcone, I didn't want a loveless relationship for life. I'd gotten used to good sex.

Yes. I could admit that to myself. It wasn't like I'd kept the opinion from John. That, that John had kept something important from me, stung. How couldn't he know that being loved by my spouse was special, a treasure?

"Eat breakfast with us, Harry."

And so I did.

***

I regarded Nathan as my mind reorganized my morning. I'd woken up alone, disappointing but not unusual. I'd have liked waking Harry up but had hopes of putting him to bed tonight. Dashed. It was unexpected, if only by timing. "What does Gard say about the bond?"

"'The farther apart, the fonder the heart.' Since he hasn't left Chicago, the effects will be minimal unless the separation is extensive." Nathan paused. "Tell him."

I arched my brow. "What happened to your disapproval?"

"It hasn't dissuaded you, and the die is cast. I suggest you do the unexpected and tell him the truth, that you love him. I might have said the same thing even before last night." He left, taking full advantage of his implied return to tailing Harry.

Right. The timing was particularly awkward. Cold feet didn't feel right, but neither did anything else. There were those who might overlook my choice in partner but not my lack of control of him. I picked up my phone and dialed Harry's office. He picked up on the third ring. I asked him, "Do you need anything?"

"John." He said it with both surprise and resignation. "Now's not a good time." From Harry that was the breadth of diplomacy. He wasn't busy, he'd never have picked up that fast otherwise. "Mouse likes a game of throw." It was my turn to be surprised. He had run from me but left his pets.

"Noted. Call when you can schedule me in." I ended the call. I had work to do, crimes to oversee.

***

I let my head hang over the chair's back, unready for this conversation, expected as it was. I'd sort of dreaded it the first night. Guess being notoriously easy to read came in handy this once. You show up at a friend's house, they put you up in the sewing room, there are going to be questions, beyond "is there a body" and "does it need moved?"

I didn't have any good answers was the thing. The one thing I knew I wasn't saying was that John loved me. He hadn't bells well told me; I was angry about that. One of his deep games, I'm sure. I'm a simple man, and tactics was about the height of my game. I was not sharing with Michael that I was willing to be bedded as long as it was just a machination. He should have told me. Why that secret?

"He lied to me." Okay, so it sounded dumb. Marcone lies to me all the time, in the sense that he doesn't tell me the truth. On the other hand I know he controls crime in Chicago; I don't need to know the specifics. So, this was on a different order.

"I'll get out of your hair..."

"You stay as long as you need to."

The thing was, Michael meant that. Wasn't happening, though. I couldn't see how I'd ever be ready to go back, I was angry and horny and ashamed, and yet I knew that I would. Go back. Sleep with John. There was the bond. I could feel it, more emphatic than before.

He should have told me.

***

I regarded Mr. Carpenter. He had tracked me down to one of my many offices. Legitimate offices. "We don't have an appointment."

"We have a mutual interest."

That we did. Several actually, but Harry was in the forefront of my thoughts. I wanted to see how the former Knight of the Cross would play this. The first thing he did was sit.

"Marriage is a blessing, because humans aren't meant to be alone. Harry has been alone for a long time. He doesn't trust easily. Don't make him second-guess you."

Not what I had expected, but then Michael wasn't like most people. That was best for business, though not for Chicago or the world.

"Honesty is vital in marriage. The labor may be divided yet in a worthy marriage there is a shared journey."

"The Church wouldn't consider what Harry and I share marriage."

He paused, and I don't think I err to think he prayed quickly. "There are those that judge who would not be judged. That is the sadness in this world. Harry does think of your bond as marriage, and either you need to concur or disabuse him of this notion. Be honest with him. Be honest with yourself. And know that God's Love is infinite and inclusive."

Michael didn't have to mention God's Wrath, it was a clear message for being unspoken. 

"Harry is fortunate to have you as a friend."

"No more than I'm charmed to have him." He stood, with more difficulty than once the case. "Harry deserves happiness. He doesn't always believe that, that's what his friends are for. Be his friend, John." He walked out.

***

My life proves the maxim that when it rains cats and dogs start living together in the streets. The "invitation" hung in my hand. "Summons" was more like it. Edinburgh, and not just the White Council. No, I couldn't be that lucky, this was an Accords meeting. In the past the Baron Marcone would have made his own travel arrangements, and I was tempted to leave him to them. It was just Scotland. And yet...

Right now we were in the same city, we were both in John's territory. I hadn't left left. There was also that not showing division thing, I hadn't made a mob boss a baron just to compromise Chicago's safety because of...

He should have told me. I didn't like that he could love me and bed me none the wiser.  
Our sex life played back like a movie-ride combo. BelIs, I wanted him. I wanted things we hadn't done.

Right, Charity's sewing room. I needed to stop thinking about his hands, his tongue, about him stroking into me. So. Edinburgh. I thought about the route. Thought about what I'd wear under my robe and cloak. Besides my duster.

I thought about Susan's verbal painting of her wearing my coat naked. I missed John.

"Not the most promising of Chicago's destinations." I allowed the edge of a smile to form as Harry entered the alley. His offer had been worded in the most brusque manner possible, belligerently rather. It was good to see him, Nathan's reports notwithstanding.

"Better than Greyhound." He cut a door into the air, neater than the last time I'd watched. "Go on."

I smirked at him and went through, Harry joining me. It was a short walk until the next door. This time he went first. He and another in a grey cloak were squabbling in Latin; that was what the guard was speaking, Harry not as such. 

"Baron Marcone." Surprise and courtesy blended unsurely.

The guard clearly didn't consider this a meet entrance for dignitaries, and was floundering to make nice with Dresden while intimating that next time it'd be advised not to approach via the deliveries door. I knew some former nuns that could tutor Harry.

***

So, it was an Accords. Pretty boring, no declarations of war, little acknowledgment of however many wars were already in progress, there was food. Eb was shooting John the stink eye and I didn't even know what that was about. I was on edge, balanced between rage and lust. The two were starting, not to blend, but to stud each other like ying and yang or a pudding cake. So, too few breaks to eat the food.

And then it was over. I cut our way back to Chicago.

"Come back to the mansion, please." It wasn't an empty nicety, that "please," no jacket slung over a gun. A magic "please."

"Okay." I was almost so nonchalant that I missed his reaction. Almost. I felt funny, provoking that from Marcone so simply. John acts, he never shows his hand until it's meted out his judgment. There were no further slips as we waited for the car, or as Nathan drove us back. He offered me a Coke. I popped it open with relish.

"What?" I lowered the can. Look, noticing John reacting is a feat but understanding those smoke signals was beyond me. So far.

"I'm sorry."

What was he sorry for? Was there a word for a non sequitur that makes too much sense? I tilted the can back for another drink. Finished, I looked out the windows. "Threat?"

"Not imminent."

Yeah, that's the sort of life we both lived. There were always threats, but most of them were so slow-burn you'd kill yourself jumping at them all. I managed not to jump him. I wanted him badly, and that's what it'd be if we didn't talk first.

***

Harry was himself. That may not seem like much of a statement, but nearly eight feet of wizard skinning off his robes was something to behold. I've heard how he once willfully snubbed the council by attending in his bathrobe. I wanted to see him in a towel. I wanted him in my bed.

It shouldn't have been possible to make drinking from a can obscene. It was the swallowing, his long neck... I refocused, just as I had in the car. Harry looked well, not that I'd expected less of Charity Carpenter. He was wearing clothes I'd bought him. I hadn't checked what he'd taken with him, I hadn't entered his bedroom.

"You love me."

It wasn't any of the things I might have expected Harry to say.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Hurt, bitter anger.

"Is that why you left?" They say hope is the last thing to die, and I'd thought I'd beaten mine. Turns out it was merely dormant. Hell of a time for it to flare up; that's why it's hope, I suppose, futile, desperate.

"You kept that from me." Possessive. Harry bristling is attractive, and I fought acting like a pile of iron filings.

"Why would you keep that from me?"

What kind of man would I be if I hadn't? "I wouldn't use it to control you." It was hard, telling him this. "I wanted to keep it pure, as if that was possible, for me, I'd crossed my own line, I made a new last one."

"How is making love to me purer for me not knowing that's what it is?!" That was the sort of thing Harry did, tilting the world on its axis with the right fulcrum of words. Said that way, I had been so sure and now I questioned myself. 

"Do all those refrigerators keep you safe?" Anyone but Harry and that would be a non sequitur. I'd have to find out what those refrigerators stood for, he let things slip when he was angry, and I'd never seen him angry like this. I doubted anyone living had.

I took a moment to rein myself in. I had done what I had to to save his life, and now I had to face it front-on, but I was going to shape the consequences and minimize the destruction. "I wouldn't compound raping you with protestations of love." I hated some of my contractors and their "recruitment" practices; eighteen was an arbitrary line on my side, though one I enforced remorselessly. I killed the jackals that disobeyed, that couldn't bide the time for girls to be women. Obedient didn't equal non-repugnant.

Harry gaped. He was speechless, and he wasn't invoking fire. I think that might be a first. Of course he might burn things any moment. "Why didn't you tell me? It wasn't... Why didn't you tell me before? My room... You didn't tell me."

He was collapsing in on himself, which was good for demolitions but not for Harry. "You hated me. You wouldn't have believed me. How did you find out?" It hadn't occurred to me to lie, I just realized that, or to deflect. Wasn't that more than second nature to me by now?

"The song's wrong, it is in your eyes." He held my gaze, an improbable intimacy. I held to it as long as I could. "It shone in them when I, that night, when I was-- Why don't you with me on my back?"

Right, fun time was over, Harry's verbal inhibitions weren't for my amusement. How could that even be a question after the floor of his apartment?

"You should have told me anyway. Or is this a no pearls before swine thing?"

I had to have hit my head. He gripped my left hand, hard enough I had to look up. "I... you-- No one..." He stroked my mouth with leather-encased fingers. This fucking hero, what sort of world kept grinding away, left him to a man like me?

"Bells, John. Strip me and push me down, thrust into me."

No.

"John?" I was sitting, he was crouched before me, I'd have to sit on my desk, I was a sick fuck, I'd never taken it to heart no matter how many times I thought I was a monster.

I kissed him. I suppose that's a death mark in the mafia, Judas and whatnot, but I didn't have a clue. He'd clammed up like a compacted car of oysters. They say that the drowning try to pull you down, that in their dying they become a kelpie. He kicked for the surface, metaphorically, kissing back so sweetly that it belonged in a sanitized Sleeping Beauty reenactment. I brought his hand up to my shirt buttons. That was a bonus, not wearing a t-shirt, we wouldn't have to break this kiss. He pulled away, gripping at my shirt. I clasped his face between my hands. "I want you."

How was that the wrong thing to say? He struggled, but he didn't get away. John could get away from me if I wasn't using magic and I wasn't. "I left because you'd squirreled away the one thing I've ever wanted."

I had protested too much, I could see that now. I did hate what John did, but I'd never really hated him. I'd made a good attempt at it, hollow as it was, a piñata of hate apparently full of lube. Chastity got me stupid, celibacy, blue balls-- I wasn't up to parsing the language when I wanted John filling me senseless. I wanted his love not just in his eyes, but in his lips, arms, hips, balls deep in me, pistoning hard. "Let me wrap my legs around you, arch up off the bed, squeeze you tight." I shut up, I think I started spouting lyrics at the end.

I realized the growl was mine. I touched Harry's face, as if I could read it like elevator buttons. My fingers moved down his neck and started on his shirt buttons. Bed. We needed to get to a bed. There were many in varied rooms, but not a single bed in this one. I heaved him up, dragged him with me, pushed him down, climbed over him. Kissed him sloppy, trailing down, opening his pants, getting at his cock. Loved his cock, sucked it in, appreciative imprecating invective spurred me on. I had never talked to him about dental dams, didn't have one on me, so I forgot that pleasure, of licking him open, spearing him on my tongue. I took him into my throat. I took him apart.

"John, John, John." He squeezed his hand around my wrist. "Fucking fuck me fucking already, fucker." I wouldn't last with those sweet nothings, I fingered his prostate right to the edge of pain. I claimed his other hand, brought it to me, teased the leather against myself. He jerked, fought to keep his eyes open and on me. I didn't pull out, but I stilled my fingers inside him. "Bring me off." Harry released my wrist, I grabbed that hand and curled mine into a fist around his in my hair. I traced near his nipples, avoiding over-sensitized flesh.

The drag of leather wasn't the thrill, nor was it some -philia. Harry tried to hide the hand he'd just about melted being a hero, though it was better than reports had first made out. I didn't doubt those had been underestimates. Harry healed fast. As bad as it looked in the stolen glances he'd allowed, it must have been horrendous to still be an issue. His hand on me was haltingly perfect and he wrung me empty.

I unclenched my hand from his hair, stroked it, then dragged a fingertip in the mess John had made of me. He groaned, and I realized I was sucking my finger. I coated two and licked a stripe up to their tips. His fingers were still in me, and they moved. I rocked, eager for all that I was lax. Huh. I experimented on my fingers, too buzzed to be embarrassed, dragging them through spunk when they tasted too much like myself.

Marcone kissed me, docked his mouth against mine and his tongue boldly plunged around my mouth. He pulled back and sucked my fingers, gave me his own. The thought of that much teeth used on my dick was scarily arousing. Bob's books likely would have had our manly rods erect again. It would have been convenient if John had been, he'd surely fill me now. I pulled on his hair with my left hand. "I'm going to fuck your mouth. Come into your office, steal your chair and feed you my dick. Pull you down onto me, ream your mouth. Eat it after you swallow." If only I could suck his neck while he swallowed. I pressed my face against him. His fingers were playing me like an expensive lock. He knew what he needed to do and he kept not doing it. Kept starting over, taking me almost there then scrambling me again. He gasped and he tipped me open. Just like that. Out of his mind, and he flipped me like I was a switch.

I took in the surroundings. Good, not one of the assigned rooms. I wouldn't have cared at the time but it would have been awkward in aftermath. We should be more of a mess, but we'd pretty much eaten ourselves clean.

"John?"

"Go back to sleep, Harry." He wasn't awake, not really, not from the sound of his slur.

"You should have told me. And, you didn't, you didn't rape me."

That last was not credible even without the bit-out delivery.

"You didn't, it was nothing li--"

I stopped jumping to conclusions and listened to Harry. I wanted to know who had hurt Harry so I could kill them. Slowly. He didn't need the question, now. "I love you." He hadn't meant for me to hear it, him contrasting two (or more, I shied away from "more") events. He didn't need questions, he needed declarations.

"My room. How long?"

It seemed a safer subject for sleeptalking. "Years." I'd loved him for years. I could have told him; he wouldn't have believed me, but I could have told him. Told him again before I saved his life. It wouldn't have changed things, it still would have been--

"Do you believe I raped you?"

I'd gotten his attention. "Could you have walked away? Left me there?" I still didn't know how he'd been there. My godmother however was very clever.

"No."

"We didn't rape each other. The situation, maybe, but we didn't." John wanted to protest, that I could read, and yet he conceded the argument. I wouldn't have gotten here in his lifetime. Grousing about the time he'd wasted would only waste more, and I'd been party to that original waste. Which wasn't to say I wouldn't balk; I was more than a little self-destructive. "Shower and breakfast?"

"My room." I picked up our clothes, handing him and pulling on just enough to walk there, gathering the rest for a less scandalous entry into the laundry. I herded him there and into my bathroom. "I'll call down." We'd use less water separately. After ordering breakfast I called Hendricks to reschedule my day as he wouldn't have any bodyguarding to do. Only he can be both pleased and put out and express the fact in a single grunt.


End file.
